To a Caterpillar, on Admiring my Prize Cabbage.
By Mariela Acosta

All a twirl, the curly leaf of green
‘neath which ye crawl, so can nae be seen.
I know ye are there, ye malevolent being
For the leaf that was whole now has holes for the seeing.

Och, a God’s creature ye are and deserve to be feeding
But the cabbage that’s your dinner was one I’ve been breeding
To win the first prize in the Scottish Cabbage Show,
And to have something better than McGreggor the Low.

McGreggor the Low has won all the top prizes,
For his cabbages are treated to be enormous sizes,
And you, you little bastard, have given him the chance
To sneak a hoot in my direction at the Cabbage Show Dance.

I’ve yet to win a prize, though I know I’m the wiser,
For McGreggor the Low uses hormone fertilizer.
But this year I’d have done it for this cabbage was huge,
Or it was till ye ate it, ye mean larva of a Scrooge.

I’m all of a loss now to know what to do,
Och, killing is too good for the greedy likes of you,
I’ll pickle ye in acid, or feed ye to the cat,
But whatever I do it will nae bring my cabbage back.