Warning to the Angry Turnip

(my worst poem so far... by far)


The Angry Turnips

Once there was a massive kitchen, full of vegetables of renown-
and among them were the turnips
with an e’er confounding prowess
a daring mix of red and brown

Upon a turnip shelf was often heard to pound
a mighty turnip drum:
singing ‘we are the turnips, everlasting veggies
and we’ll always be around’

But produce items did not last, ‘cause rotting is the norm
even despite their vitamins;
yet the turnips shunned mortality
loathing to conform

Some turnips turned to the blackest arts; their voodoo did enthral;
they ordained turnip priests, and
their mystics awoke a mighty beast
which was called the Wherewithal

Worse than werewolves was this Wherewithal, with its demon’s red hot ass
-a truly shocking pantry spectre-
the turnips used it to enslave the baked brown beans
--there was much passing of the gas

Life was bleak in turnip-land for many drudgerous eons
there was many a lamentation over
the caste system devised by the turnip Shahs
in which carrots were the peons

Today the turnips still hold sway in their Empire of the Fridge
the salad days are waning, however
the Tupperware perishables are escaping
--freedom’s oozing from the lids

Let this be a lesson to the Angry Turnip: few tyrants ever prosper
the day of Cooking is fast approaching
indeed it’s rare that anyone survives
being boiled alive with a lobster!

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