I’d just like to get it on record, I’m really bad at poetry.
Oh Onion, sweet onion, alas we must find,
So many layers of you
Red onion, white onion, let us be kind
For without you we’re nothing, it’s true.
Take broth, or stew, or bolognese
It would take years for man to create
Any true comparison
And though you are used in a number of ways
It is fair and fortunate
That ever true, you are the one.
And so, sweet onion, we say goodbye,
With this our farewell song,
And though, our onion, you make use cry,
You remain in use by the throng.
And without your inducing of our tears,
We remain indebted to you
And your kind, so many, lots
You remain our favourite throughout the years,
And though it may make us blue,
Do we count you with shallots?
The Idiot In Tin Foil