This would be that dark entry. I've changed it a bit and here we go again. These things even themselves out. I never thought Long John Silver would win and heigh-ho.
Vegetable Loves
It's three o'clock behind the church, a gibbous moon is riding high,
Monstrous leeks like giant penises assault a starry sky,
Swollen onions big as footballs, bloated pumpkins plump as sheep,
Vicar's digging, digging, digging, by the glistening compost heap.
Peapods fat as bookies' wallets, beanstalks broad as Hattie Jacques,
Tender tendrils twisting, twining, groping, grasping at their stakes,
Vicar's forking dripping, dropping tons of dark, nutritious mulch
Down gigantic steaming trenches gaping like the Devil's gulch.
Beetroots, turnips, swedes and parsnips heaving as the rain comes hissing,
Passionate potato tubers, grinding, gasping, gagging, kissing,
Lettuce loves like sails a-billow, copulating radish roots,
Vicar's stamping, stumping, stomping in his massive mud-caked boots.
Swampy stench of Sex and Violence makes the darkness fierce and feral,
Any kids who cross the heaving churchyard cross it at their peril,
Though the gravestones steam with vegetable coupling, vicar's shed
Is crammed chockfull of horrid little skulls of the untimely dead.
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