The Onion (A Poem)

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I cry, And I know why. I'm slicing an onion. It makes me weep. I cry some more, And I know what is in store. But I slice the onion For the good of the meal. A little tears Are no big deal. The onions will make The burgers taste great. My tears will disappear Upon my plate. Don't weep. Hope this poem doesn't put you to sleep.