Ode to a Radish

I heareth a sound
and turn'st around
to find a red radish
at rest on the ground.

Who hath placed you here
O riveted radish
Drank he too much beer
and a salad established?

"Nay," quoth the radish
though veggies can't talk
"I was ripp'd from my crevice
Pulled right by the stalk

and the man who had yanked me
took a bite with a sting
with a holler he spat me
and me did he fling

so here'st I rest
torn up on the ground
tastless at best
and imperfectly round."

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