The green bland with bumps on the side
Most of us like this but as a child we would have cried
With choices in parties big or small
With games that we play and siding we call
With onion and tomatoes all is well
That is what people will say or tell
In burgers we put these in to make a crunch
With food we eat during brunch or lunch
Every Party we have I think they are in
It is like a legendary vegetable that is within
Total in a can or in a jar with vinegar
Some get weird and put sugar
The size comes in when we need a party done
As the little shape ones will be gone
I see these in Renaissance Fair, always in a barrel
These are soaking through with joy and carrel
Most people pay and people share
With Pickle Party come secrets rare
It is fun to have them always a joy
But I think it is not accepted as royal
Arcadian almost snake like road, moonlit, bumpy and quiet,
Fox tippy-toed across to the burrow,
In anticipation thrown a singular look,
Beyond the gate lovely nook,
For you, the least I could do.
Verdant but with a lot of grunt,
The prospect of this dyad
Simple and straight,
Let's take a bite,
In the isolated carrel,
Not a room as some would call it,
As the intention was to enjoy,
Learn and study,
Predominantly all of you.
Suzanne!
With Blue-Eyed Boy in a glass,
Taste of your skin on the lips,
Throws and dips,
Dolores sang her heart out,
Diving in a bout,
Where memories meet passion,
Tango Criollo moving the hips,
A step toward the scent, and;
The citadel was to fall after a long siege,
I found my refuge, deep in it,
Where no enemy could touch,
Enjoying every bit of it, thank you very much.
Seated in a corner to my left
Were travellers who appeared to be deaf
I knew not who these men were
And their purpose I have no true care
Slung over his shoulder, one rose to aim
At the conductor amassing her claim
Tut-tut! Bullets marched, making peace with her neck
In desperate haste, Les masses went berserk!
With my mind acquiese and body nervy
The prospects ahead were quite scary
Two more to the roof...tout l'argenterie clattered
An untimely error by my fidgety created
In the quiet of my carrel, three breaths from sight
A sheer bystander in another man's malice
Scribbling my death song away from the fright
To recount, mon amour why we will never have Paris
But before the end of this lengthily horror and me
In merest simplicity and pitiful hope
My dearest Naina, should this get to thee
I pray the heavenlies will make us a new home
---------------------------
Inspiration: French train shooting of August 2015
& The spur of Naina's dare ??
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