Behold! A poem that came to me this afternoon as I ate my lunch:

This is a ballad that is all about salad;
It rhymes about carrots, and not about ferrets,
Its lyrics beset us with lines about lettuce
It inanely prattles about grapes, nuts, and apples,
It lilts about beans and lush collard greens
Of turnips, and beets, and onions, and leeks,
It’s an inspired adage on spinach and cabbage,
(It practically shouts about Brussels sprouts!)
And insinuates coyly that there’s nothing so holy
As getting down on your knees to sing a hymn about peas.

While poetry about vegetables is really quite questionable,
And expressing on dressing may be quite depressing
(If one loathes potatoes or cherry tomatoes,
Or thinks it quite caddish to sing of a radish),
Nevertheless, this rhyme doth express
Preeminent joy regarding bok choy,
It simpers forlorn about uneaten corn
And savors the oddity of cheese and diced broccoli,
So therefor I boldly, and hotly, and coldly,
Entitle this ballad, “An Ode to a Salad.”

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