Poetry Archives

Dames should be doomed to dungeons
Who masticate raw onions.

She was the cuddly kind of Miss
          A man can love to death;
But when I sought to steal a kiss
          I wilted from a breath
With onion odour so intense
          I lost my loving sense.

Yet she was ever in my thought
          Like some exotic flower,
And so a garlic bulb I bought
          And chewed it by the hour;
Then when we met I thrilled to see
          ’Twas she who shrank from me.

So breath to breath we battled there,
          To dominate each other;
And though her onions odious were,
          My garlic was a smother;
Till loth I said: ‘If we would kiss
          Let’s call an armistice.

‘Now we have proved that we are true
          To our opinions,
My garlic I’ll give up if you
          Give up your onions.’
And so next day with honey sips
          How sweet her lips!