My opinion of pickles is deep and profound,
and so sharp it tickles, and so, when around
those ones whose sharp senses are hurt by adjectives,
or dire consequences of spicy perspectives
from one unrelenting in declaring their views,
who so is resenting and quick to refuse,
or, contrary, tickled and shying from not
embracing the pickled, to give voice to thought,
O! Demure, I refrain, in voice moderate,
from declaiming quatrains ’bout some dill that I ate.
‘Ere, mute, as I workins, so sensitive ears
of one ‘fraid of gherkins may attend without fear,
and, litely, in my dogg’rel day, abstain from prattling on—
opining, silent, in my way, on those dear cornichons.
Note: This was composted in response to a #thursdaypoetrysociety challenge on LinkedIn to compose a poem in response to the prompt “my opinion on pickles”.
