The Onion

Once upon a time
a petty peasant
presented a beggar
with an onion as present.
The very next day she died.
And in the middle of night
the devil drew nigh.
A choir of hired
and uninspired angels
cried from high heavenly angles
as she fell into the blackness of hell.
The pit, the pitch,
the blasphemous bitch
drowned in a fiery lake of fire
on a pristine pyre
in which the sulfur stench
could not be quenched.
Until an Anglican angel
named Percival Percy
decided to show mercy.
With a divine piece of pine,
Percy sent her a line
with an onion on the end.
The peasant greedily pulled herself up
but halfway up
became partially stuck.
The damned daringly
clawed her clothes and toes
and absolutely refused to let go.
The peasant , screeched and screamed,
“Mine. It is my Onion.”
With that the pearly line,
split like so much fishing twine.