Onion peel

Our polemics goes on like onion peel
To reach the tearful center of nothing.
Let us cut them to thin rings of slices
For a farmer’s hungry mid-day lunch
So he makes stuff for other stomachs
His own stomach lost to onion peels.
Onion is bankroll to feed hunger games
About men thirsty for a palm’s climb
For gods’ nectar where tree meets sky.
Its peels go well with the gods nectar.

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