Originally Posted by
firefangled
I picked this morning morning's onion, round
Bulb of halitosis, growing-great-green stalked white
And blooming
From the rich and fertile all around it sandy loam, and looming
Tall there, how it will upon my eyes wreak holy hell
When I peel it! and tears will blur my sight,
As when hearts break for love hard won then lost: the pain and
Glooming
Shadow the dear cost. My eggs then waiting,
Tasty the fare, — the omelet, the folding of the chopped root.
Fluff, shinning and butter, oh parsley, cilantro, fragrant mist, here
Savor! and the praise that breaks from deep within to utter, mmmm,
and so lovelier that cereal, but ah! cholesterol.
No matter for it, oatmeal makes breakfast boring;
Fill me golden orbs of death, cook it, Dora,
Lay me down satisfied, and eternally snoring.