The Carrot Sonnet Poem by Martin Ward

The Carrot Sonnet

My beautiful, orange, four-legged friend,
not a barking dog, nor a neighing horse:
so many digits, I could write in Morse;
and the proof is the photograph I send!
It's a crunchy, tasty carrot, of course,
whose variety is called 'Sweet Candle',
but could properly be called 'fork handles',
like Ronnie Barker's famous tour-de-force.
More cosseted than family or wife,
it grew in five star luxury all year;
talked-to, as if I were the Prince of Wales
and pampered every day of its life.
But when I pulled him up it became clear
that it resembled something with a tail!

Here is a photo and little ditty.
I will not be quick or over hasty,
checking this carrot is really tasty,
but cook-up some words that might seem witty.
My allotment in Derby's fair city,
once famed for growing a well-hung parsnip,
boasts carrots whose roots have truly let rip.
Perhaps the soil was rocky or gritty?
Alan Titchmarsh might frown at this ditty:
no gardening tips, this sonnet sending.
The carrot's tale, I have tried to relate,
(Telegraph readers think it's a pity) .
This carrot must have a happy ending:
ending up on the poet's dinner plate!