Eulogy for a Vegetable, in the style of Shelley

Farewell, dear spinach! The invisible worm that flies in the night, through the howling transverse colon, has found out thy bed of secret joy, and pricks us—salad-eaters, weight-watchers, legions of eager vegans—with the sting of death! For you there will be no lotus-like transfiguration; you cannot repudiate your manure-immured roots (full o' th' milch of human vileness)!

Farewell, gentle leafy green! As wise Xerxes once composed an ode to his beloved Oriental plane tree, so will I memorialise you—vegetabile cara ed amabile—under whose spatulate foliage I used to seek refuge from the salivating omnivores preaching their policies of meaty doom. Whither shall I hide now? What herb must I turn to? I can see already the willowy shadows gathering opportunistically, sussurating seductively: bitter Rocket, absurd Frisée, mandarin Kale, and a whole host of phyto-phantoms—Parsley, Coriander, and Spring Onion—I quake at these odious, odorous irrelevancies!

Let me stay true to you always, fair, fatal frond! Let me purchase only empty ravioli shells in your honour, that I may remind myself of the pain of your absence! Let me, as I enter into the house of Patxi, only order pesto-pesto pizzas (and naturally be charged for two toppings) since I will not stoop to be conquered by insipid Eggplant or calamitous Kalamata! And when I die, may my remains be treated according to safety regulations set by a far more competent FDA, such that I may be used to fertilise a whole new generation of spinach, halcyon and hale, fit for the vegetarians of the future!