(jokes all in jest)

Hard to believe, I orange in a lee
started life as barely visible speck!

Just in the course of healthy growing
season, this former minute nearly
microscopic entity developed into
quite pleasing nose cone herbivorous

specimen, though modesty restrains
me to rattle off an excess of adjectives
to describe fine physique of this
munch able mealy mouthed morsel.

Though my existence the epitome of
any ordinary carrot, the natural and
man-made dangers got drilled into my
cortex from the moment sprouts spring
from that black kin décor fleck.

Matter of fact, the bunch of family
members frequently primed and trained
in case creature with row of sharp
front teeth seeks fancy feast

These practice drills catapulted me,
(and others in same graduating class)
to cope with what crops up out of
deeply grounded growing
sense of false security.

Although just equipped with only
circular reddish trunk, and lack
extra limbs to apply defensive
maneuvers, the techniques taught
to us at prestigious carrot league

school focused on artfully crafty
movements, sans wriggling deeper
below topsoil in an attempt to thwart
thumping hindquarters of one
or group of rabbits.

Now tis wise those once cute bunnies
heed thy advice RUN RABBIT RUN!

Ever since firmly anchored in the earth
via number silvery tendrils as young
whipper snapper, me dad constantly
forewarned me to be on the lookout

and take every measure to avoid the
likes of Bugs Bunny, Kit Carson,
Peter Cottontail, and their motley posse
of voracious appetites for destruction.

At prime of full-blown young adulthood,
and essentially as grown prized well-rooted
stew pen dis crème of the crop nose cone
(built superbly shaft like), a promising
adulthood awaited me.

Unbeknownst to farmer Boyce Harris,
this outsize conical vegetable would
sprout into quite handsome inviting
healthy snack.

A thatch of tousled mop top red matted
hair exemplify carrot teen years.
So…hear me and listen up, ye hares who
house a harem of hungry herbivores.

Ye aint gettin to sink yaw choppers into
me crunchy grate ‘C’ pulp and chamber
that secretes savory sweet celluloid.
I yam not stew ped!

Over a goblet of fire me deathly hallowed
juice will pots sub lee only grudgingly relent.

Defense against the well red orange arts
prepare this protean plant to avoid pursuits
that whet an overly active appetite for
suffering like fate of late mister potato head.

At all costs, an orthodox upbringing instilled
herculean efforts to steer clear of radical stirring
raw bits, which subversive underground posse
frequently met short, nasty and brutish outcome.

Many accounts repeated detail brutish slave labor
that often comprise 1. faux nose as ideal abutment
to hold up bifocals for an aging frosty the snowman
or  2. never volunteer myself in role of that metes
outcome of scarecrow or strawman.

These innocent furry creatures possess two sharp
front teeth wreak havoc and rent asunder and turned
many loving defenseless Daucus carota into pet
trill like liquefied car rot.