My friends, I have eaten meat all of my life in all its varied forms, like chicken, lamb and beef,
All cooked by my dear old mother, and then by my loving wife,
Not once did I give a single thought, on how this bounty reached my plate,
Or the trauma that the donors felt, or if they even valued life,
Nor about the animals we eat, or how they met their horrible fate.
Then I saw a film on my TV, by some activist group called PETA,
And from that day on, and for evermore, I made a solemn promise,
And I swore that no longer would I be a vile and cruel meat eater.
So I vowed to try the vegetarian life.
At the height of a beautiful spring that year, I planted my first dream garden, it was full of fruit and veg, tomato and even pear,
And I talked to the plants while I watered and weeded, this helps plants grow and blossom, or that is what I hear.
And I gave the infant plants therein, exactly what they needed, I sang to them many soft tunes, and many a crooning ballad.
Dreaming about the plants full grown, ripe and ready to harvest, and of a cool refreshing salad,
To be made with all the plants, from the smallest to the largest.
It was then I read an article, while resting from my labour, about plants and their ability to feel emotion, pain, and even fear.
It was written by a scientist by the name of Doctor Richard Faber,
And as I read his powerful words, I was shocked and even shed a tear.
Then as I recovered my senses, my conviction began to harden,
And I swore to myself in earnest, though my plants were there to savour,
To save my beautiful plants from pain, I would never harvest my garden.
Then much, much later on a warm summer eve, beneath a pale full moon,
As I sat and admired my bountiful garden, and sang it another soft ballad,
Vile and evil thoughts assaulted me, and I thought that I would swoon,
Oh! Forgive me my friends, but I wanted and craved a cool and refreshing salad.
I fought my desire to plunder my plants, and to carve and cook my loot,
But in abject failure, I slipped out to the garden, intent on plundering my crop,
And I fondled a carrot, caressing its beautiful feathery top,
Then with eyes closed shut, and with the force of a brute,
I tore that poor carrot out by the root, and in my imagination, it whimpered with pain, and came out with a very loud pop,
Then laying my hand on a radish, I pulled and it left a small crater, then celery I plucked, then a fine plump squash,
And then, with my sharp garden hoe, I exhumed a slumbering tater,
I did all this with tears in my eyes and my sense of guilt awash. By then, the tomatoes were showing their fears, then I choked a romaine, which screamed out in pain.
Oh! Their anguish was filling my ears!
I finally came to the lettuce, as it cringed at the top of the row, and with one wicked slice, I maimed it, and with another I gave the final death blow.
Then I butchered the onions and parsley, intent on my horrible chore,
I chopped and I whacked without looking, until my frenzy started to slow,
And until my hoe was all covered in gore,
And with my brow all drenched with perspiration, I gathered my murdered harvest, my tears falling upon the floor,
And with a quick look around, in case of observation, I quietly stepped through my back door.
On my bench, this bounty lay, all naked and dying, so I drowned them to snuff out their pitiful life.
And I sliced and I peeled, as they thrashed and they reeled on the cutting board, all killed by my knife.
Then I violated the tomatoes, so their innards could never survive, and as I grated and ground, they bravely made not a sound.
Then to compound my sins, I boiled that poor tater alive, and I took all the small broken pieces, all firm plump and round, and tossed them all together, heedless of whether they suffered.
And then, oh Heaven help me, I ate them!
Please forgive me I'm so sorry, and I'm filled with absolute shame,
Because now I know those plants suffer, and feel excruciating pain,
But please believe when I tell you, my hunger was to blame, I know that I committed a deed of disgrace,
All in the name of healthy food and good taste.
I'm a vegetarian beginner, and know that my feelings are hard to explain to someone who may eat only vegetables for their dinner!
After my traumatic experience, I have forsaken vegetarian life, and returned to my lifelong diet of chicken, lamb, and beef,
Food more suitable to my palate, and won't cause my conscience strife,
I now care not for where it comes from, and it causes me no more grief,
All I know is that I like it, cooked the way it should be and filling up my plate,
The only veggies are now from the market, and I can consume them with relief.
I never went back to my garden, the memories so hard to endure.
No more garden or vegetarian diet for me, of that my friends I am sure.
I still eat the occasional veggie of course, but now I have to pay,
I get them at the local shop, all packaged and source unknown, which suits me just fine these days, and I eat them without remorse.
Remorse is now for someone else to suffer, as those innocent plants are torn out from the bed, where they were lovingly sown.
