Round and red and full of dread,

Fearful fruit ripe to be bled,

They say beauty hides goodness within

But I simply do not believe them.

Sunlight glistens red orbs on the vine,

Some pop cherries in their mouth and call it divine.

I shudder at the thought and admire them from afar,

The idea of eating one whole seems simply bizarre.

I know it’s in ketchup, I know it’s in sauce,

But forgoing a ripe one is really no loss.

The texture’s the thing that makes me want to gag,

So simply slice one open, and I’ll heave into a rag.