Quoth The Maiden To The Head Of Lettuce Poem by April Lane

The crownèd prince of vegetables
So proud and elegant
You show no fear as I approach
So young and innocent

How noble is your breeding and
How delicate your taste
It sure would be a crime to let
Such riches go to waste

I rip away your roots and steal
You from your garden bed
I cannot wait to take you home
And get inside your head

You're conquered, though you struggle hard
My thirst is satisfied
And glutted with success I feel 
Desire for you subside

I toss you in the icebox and
Forget you for a while
The other garden victims laugh
That you should join their pile

In frigid dark you wait for me
To find my appetite
To hunger for your sweetness and
Return you to the light

And once your dirt is rinsed away
And blackened bits are shorn
I dress you up to suit my tastes
I garnish and adorn

I strip away your layers and
Consume them one by one
I brutalize and ravage you
Devour and leave you none

I shred your perfect little veins
Your soft translucent skin
You nurture and you energize
You cleanse me from within 

I chew you up and swallow you
Enjoying every part
And when I've taken all I want
I throw away your heart

Remorse will never trouble me
I care not how you feel
I raised you up to cut you down
To me you're just a meal

So many like you there have been
And many more will be
But we are joined forever more
Now you are part of me