I hesitate to join such racy talk
With two whose feet can clearly walk the walk,
But to defend the onion, noble fruit,
I'll make appeal until there's nothing to it.
What odor's that, defending every lip
From too close contact with a case of grippe?
It is the onion, crisp and raw as apples
And green as summer grass, perfuming chaples,
That keeps the faithful working in their gardens,
'Mid shallots, leeks and chives, where that bulb hardens
That fairly glows with vegetative light
In all its colors, red, yellow and white.
So let the monkey dawdle with banana--
Agnostic though the onion be, it's manna.
What vegetable could'st thou better propose
Than one whose spirit reacheth every nose?
[This message has been edited by Joe Aimone (edited August 28, 2002).]
|