The Little Old Man in the Peanut

I sit at the table, for supper I sit
A bowl that is wooden is holding my meal:
A peanut, so lovely I'm gathering spit
To sample and savour its lonely appeal.

My knife and my fork in my left and my right
I gently saw open, I open the shell
But just as my teeth its interior bite
A thin reedy voice crossly says, "Bloody Hell!"

A little old man, from the peanut he springs
And glares at me under two brows gleaming dark
Exclaiming, "Though I may not own any wings,
An angel I am, and my words you must hark.

This house that I live in, what you call a 'nut'
Holds all the world's answers, to life and to pain.
Should you eat it now to fill your empty gut
A hope for the people is never again."

But just as he finishes making his speech
A voice from the fork, from the fork does it come -
"I hold now before you a snowy white peach
That will satisfy more than a woman or rum."

A maiden appears, a fair maiden is she:
The snowy white peach, in her hands does it sit.
"I know you go hungry, the hunger knows me
And I sympathize with where your problems have hit.

I offer an option you cannot refuse:
To gain such a peach - it will help you survive
The peanut you'll eat; with the last of your chews
This peach will quell hunger so long you're alive."

The little old man looks imploring, at me
My stomach churns hopefully, cogs slowly grind
I desp'rately want to remain my life free
Of unyielding hunger - I make up my mind.

I say to the grandpa, "Your plea - I shan't heed it."
He miserably draws to the shell with a cry
I look at it closely, and finally eat it -
And in the ensuing explosion, we die.