O, here's a ballad on a salad from my memory.
Though on the face, 'twas not the case my meal was odd at all,
The fact endures -- my take and yours'll hereupon agree--
That leafy lunch was such a bunch of strangeness, great and small.
So hearken, guys, just close your eyes and conjure up a bowl,
A lovely bowl that's mostly full of vegetables galore--
Fresh carrots chopped and aptly dropped atop clean, crunchy slaw;
Tomatoes, too, of every hue, and easy to adore.
But as we sneak a second peek, we'll get a sudden sense
Unusual acts have come to pass throughout our salad's youth
That actuate a current state of novel countenance...
A countenance that makes no sense -- and that's the honest truth.
For every trace of green's effaced -- yes, every leaf erased--
No kelly pea, however wee; no moss, chartreuse, or jade;
No forest herb or cucumber; no sage or celery…
Yet all that's left post-em'rald theft seems colorfully arrayed.
Red cabbage tossed and gladly lost up dreamy streams of sauce;
Tomatoes, small and sweet and all but dyed ruby and gold;
And carrots, made a lovely shade by beta-carotene--
Resplendent, though my story's no Best Legend Ever Told.
For stranger themes have happened around poetry and food;
The salad turn was subtler, naught markedly afoul.
What type of salad has no green? What person notes such facts?
The same one who can't overlook the absence of a vowel.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Tuesday, April 5, 2011