rhubarb

Spring is late, but nothing stops

Rhubarb – black sheep of all crops.

The stuff is tougher than a weed –

Of herbicide it takes no heed.

I've covered it in thick cement;

But rhubarb folds it like a tent.

It sprouts and grows until it's ripe

For sauces, bars and other tripe.

Its evil genius never dies,

But haunts dessert with awful pies.

I've tried to cultivate a taste;

My effort was a total waste.

One who craves it, I insist,

Is nothing but a masochist.

Neighbors bring it by in mounds.

To them I say:  Release the hounds!

---

Change the world with e-mail. Join the i'm Initiative from Microsoft.