The Last Cuke of Summer

'Tis the last cuke of summer
Rip'ning there all alone
All her crunchy companions
Sliced for salads in days long gone
No flower of her kindred,
No growing gherkins nigh,
To reflect her glossy greenness,
Or give sigh for sigh.

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one,
To pine on the vine;
Nay I'll pluck thee and grate thee,
to mix with yogurt sublime
I'll add feath'ry fragrant dillweed,
And some garlic crushed so fine
Plus vi-nay-gar, and some juice squeezed
From a lemon of sunny shine.

As a bowl of tzatsiki,
You'll be welcome to stay
in my refri-ger-AY-tor
for a week and a day
Fresh and tangy on a pita,
far from autumn leaves so dry,
I can't wait for next summer
When more recipes I'll try!


With apologies to Thomas Moore.

Although the sincerity of said apologies could well be questioned.

As for the rest of the world, well, I don't think I've inflicted bad poetry on you guys since The Ballad of the Schooner Anne. And there I was merciful, I didn't finish the other 72 verses I would project being necessary to do justice to that particular adventure! Be grateful for small blessings - and come on, two bad poems a year won't kill ya!

Note, slightly later - oh, ok, maybe there were three poems this year. But I didn't think the cute feet one was really all that bad!

note 2, later still...oh, ok, and then there was my entry in Tillerman's Clerihew Day challenge. That was HIS fault, darn it!