Between your seeds I see a need
for something more than simple greed,
and so we'll sow our wicked weed
to let the honor corps succeed.

For dancing onions, paying heed
to all of those who would proceed
to dream of sunlight's wilting deed
and raisin cookies turning feed.

Unless the stanza's tough to read
we'll muddle through on trusted steed.
Armed with patience, time, and creed...
Alas, oh dear, myself I've peed.

And now my reader's finally freed.