It was a glorious Saturday,
The day had dawned so fair
When Hubby, golf clubs on his shoulder slung
Came striding down the stair.
He stopped outside the kitchen door,
Did he hear someone crying?
And what he saw when he looked in
Made thoughts of golf go flying!
His pretty wife was standing there
With moist and dewy lashes;
The tears that wet her rosy cheeks
Quick turned his joy to ashes!
Whence came this melancholy mood?
What had upset her so?
His thoughts of golfing now had fled,
He could not leave her so!
Don't weep, my Love, her husband said,
I'll help you calm your fears.
But she just turned and laughed at him
And brushed away the tears.
Her red-rimmed eyes were twinkling;
She said, Don't be such a twit!.
My eyes aren't teary 'cos I'm sad,
This onion's doing it!
I thought I'd make an irish stew,
I know you like it so,
And all the veggies are prepared,
There's just this one to go.
But onions always make me cry,
And onions I'm peeling.
It isn't sadness in my heart;
It's onion juice I'm feeling.
Her husband pondered for a while
And sought a good solution.
He turned to her at last and said,
This is my resolution.
From henceforth when you're shopping
For your veggies and your bread,
Don't buy those spanish onions,
Buy Vidalias instead.
And with apologies to Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice.
(and Evita, of course!)
EPILOGUE.Don't make me cry, Sweet Vidalia,
I'll shed no tears when you I'm peeling.
You're sweet and fragrant,
The best I've tasted,
And you will always
Adorn my sandwich!
Don Mulford