POETRY CORNER
April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
T.S. Eliot "Ode to the Rutabaga"
Rutabaga sits in the old Pan-tree!
Merry, merry King of the Veg is he!
Laugh, Rutabaga,
Laugh, Rutabaga,
Uneaten you shall be!
M. Johnson "The Rutabaga Song"
These two poems, one arguably more accomplished than the other, perfectly capture the Pantry's zeitgeist over the last few weeks. But now winter is over, what is it still with all these "dried tubers?"
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