Such a small thing, full of layers
To have turned us all to vile players
Oh! The punsters we’ve become
Because of Ascalonicum!!
Poor Dilyn’s most nightmarish fears
Come haunting from a vale of tears
Soon we’ll hear the poor man screaming
Chopping ‘til his eyes are streaming
Gashing, slashing, cleave and cut
Foul memories of Pizza Hut!
And Bards who once were all so chic
Now laugh until they start to leek
Poor fellow must be so distraught
Sweet Lady Em’s gone eschalot!
Wicked night-mare’s turned to stallions
Distinguished Bards are now rap-scallions
Vidalia, Bermuda, Italian red
Like a noxious wind, the scourge is spread
The evil of this baneful fruit
Goes all the way down to the root!
Save your eyes from scent that stings
Just say ‘NO!” to onion rings!
Like a warning tale from old John Bunyan
Damnation, hell . . . the cursed ONION!
~ A POEM ~
by
Himself
the Lord of Misrule
Ace of Anarchy
Duke of Disorder
~ Foister Von Ripster ~
This poem is for Dilyn
May he never have to face
Another
ONION