Something pungent

.

Something pornographic

in the shallot’s disposition,

Indisposed to be an onion,

much less leek or chive,

It tempts not by strength

or intellect or subtlety

But preens and coils before

the eyes. “Scallion” charges he,

“Queen,” says she, “of Allium,”.

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This entry was posted in food, France, Poetry, Uncategorized and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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