The Sad Life Of Lettuce Poem by Kevin Patrick

A head of fresh lettuce sat in the fridge
Mopping and griping that it hadn't been hitched
It was passing each day as a bridesmaid for fruit
And known its time was growing slightly less spruce
While every so often it would be clipped for a date
But it always came with still a leaf on its plate
Its green days began to lose some of its vigor
Waiting for the hand that would properly deliver

The red grapes and lemons flew from the coop
But still the poor lettuce sat and quietly brood
She made an acquaintance with a granny smith apple
Who cheered up her spirits with tête-à-tête tattle
Then one day a stranger extracted her leafs
She was nonplussed that marriage was never to be
Then the granny smith said "Don't be so fickle
You could have been born as a sourly pickle"