There once was a boy, who had a pickle,
Not a bite he’d take, his tastes too fickle.

His mother warned, were it not eaten that day,
There’d be no ice cream till the month of May. 

The calendar read the month of May just gone,
A year without ice cream for this pickled chum?

He frowned and stomped, stood his ground,
For twelve long months no ice cream’d be found.

A lack of ice cream the boy could tackle,
But, next day, much to his chagrin another pickle debacle.

There on a plate, all green and prostrate,
Lays yesterdays pickle with an emerald mate.

Two pickles today or no more chocolate she said,
The boy stubbornly shouted ‘I’d rather be dead’.

So a stalemate it would be, a tasty treat gone every day,
And yet another blasted pickle added to the fray.

For weeks this stretched, of his favourite food was made bereft,
Till bread and water was all he had left.

With pickles piling, the boy gaunt and declining,
His stubbornness waned, maybe his tastes need refining?

But one look at those cumber fiends, he wouldn’t budge,
Over these weeks and days he’d borne a grudge.

He hobbled hungry to bed still full of fight,
But in his battle with the pickle, it was his final night.

Morning came and breakfast went,
But while pickles are preserved, the boy was spent.

That’s the story of the dogged boy who wouldn’t behave,
Who now lays in the ground, pickles growing on his grave.