Failed Turnip Makes Good

by Stephen Watson

The turnip scurried away from the

Market stall, shedding tears of despair

Which splashed the brand new shoes

Of the market inspector.

'Why do you cry Mister Turnip?'

'I am unsold and therefore my life has no meaning'

Replied the failed turnip.

He bid the market inspector farewell and jumped

Under the wheels of the passing cab he'd just hailed

And became sustenance for the hovering pigeons,

Which cooed an elegy of gratitude for his sacrifice.

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