Onion

in poem •  8 years ago  (edited)

Onion made everyone cry,
but his intentions never were sly.

His fate is to be cut and fry,
yet he feels pain watching 'em cry.

The onions are, always in pry
wondering, who's next to die. 

Rising from dust
They make their journey
To the homes of humans

They give taste and smell
After we take their lives
For the sake of flavor

Onion made everyone cry,
but his intentions never were sly.

His fate is to be cut and fry,
yet he feels pain watching 'em cry.

The onions are, always in pry
wondering, who's next to die.

Photo used from pixabay with CC0 license which doesn't require attribution.

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