And Give My Grace To You

I am a gleaming aubergine in an oval dish My purple skin is polished Like BBC English. I await my fate for I am ripe My seeds fulfil my wish Soon,soon the knife will cut me up As corn in fields is threshed. I’d rather lie in Egypt’s soil By birds and insects bit But here I am in England Where irony is wit. After cutting comes the salt As in a bowl I sit For I am moist like lady’s parts As poets have much writ. Moussaka is my destiny And as you bite and chew I shall be what Jesus was And give my grace to you I am fried in olive oil To give me flavour ripe. Dried in cloth and placed in pot Atop the meat I ride. My colour brings all eyes to me As I lie in a heap. Some like carrot heads so bright Royal purple is my state. So better than a lamb I am For a sacrifice. I am proud and gleam like gold As Caesar-like I’m knifed. My seeds through sewers deep shall pass And somewhere come to grief. I shall grow again and be Portrayed by a leaf.