Said the pepper to the gourd,
“I’ll throw myself upon the sword,
To attest to our loving,
In a baked dish in the oven.”
Said the gourd to the pepper,
“Fitting we should die together,
For our time until we’re old,
In a stew or casserole.”
But their love was not to be,
For it extremely unlikely,
To grant the dear lovers their wish,
And end up baked in the same dish.
So the gourd would fly the coop,
And end up in a tasty soup,
Where he sought out consolation,
With all sorts of vegetation.
And in time wouldn’t you know,
He hooked up with a potato,
They swore themselves in love forever,
And rarely thought about the pepper.
Who was never baked, grilled or fried,
Forsaken ’til the day he died,
Some say it was a broken heart,
But I say it was mold and rot.