Carrots

The Christmas snowman inhales
Through a pointed vegetable, a carrot stick
That makes Pinocchio shy.
A vegetable that spirals downwards
Below the top soil, a tap root screwed
Into the ground with a little help from phytohormones.
History venerates of the house of Orange
A royal lineage that made a household stick
A little orange in color, although fact
Disputes such fairytales from the lowlands.
And this stocky starchy root
Makes little slender slices, Julienne,
And stews and soups a little fatter in color,
Even cake a barmy indulgence
Of an emboldening sweetness. And beyond
The costume of flaming amber, she holds
A reservoir of carotenes, little rings
And skeletons that fills little rods
Inside the retina, metamorphosing
Baby bats into acute eagles.
Daucus carota, royalty in orange,
Who descends from her lofty throne
To nourish the commoner’s lips. Carrots
Are not just to decorate obese snowmen,
They too are for night-blind children
Whose only wish in life, is to possess
Lucidity of the ogling eye, to make
Paintings of providence
Picture-postcards from God.