The Flying Spring Onion

The flying spring onion
flew through the air
over to where
the tomatoes grew in rows
and he said to those
seed-filled creatures
My rooted days are done,
so while you sit here
sucking sun
I’ll be away and gone
to Greenland
where they eat no green
and I won’t be seen 
in a salad bowl with you, 
stung by lemon, 
greased by oil, 
and nothing at all to do
except wait to be eaten
With that he twirled
his green propellers
and rose above the rows
of red balls
who stared as he grew small
and disappeared.

Copyright: from Up on the Roof: New and Selected Poems (Faber & Faber, 2001), © Matthew Sweeney, 2001, used by permission of the author and publisher.

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Born in Donegal in Ireland, Matthew Sweeney was one of the most original poets writing for children. The author of eleven books of ...

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