In the depths of the crisper, where the lights are low, A pea sits, unassuming, as if in a show. Its green is dull, its taste, a bore, A culinary sin, or so I've heard before.
Its skin is smooth, its texture, a crime, But to me, it's a snack that's just not mine. I'll take the crackers, the cheese, the wine, But not this pea, with its flavorless shine.
But still, I'll eat it, with a sigh, And pretend it's something I'd rather try.
Continue to PEA-SONNET 9