So I got around to writing my onion poem (status quoted)

It's crust
The outer layers that grab hold tightly
And keep silence fresh
Keep solemn face from grinning
Keep mouth from ever parting
Kept solitude in It's word
And every way

The demeanour
That puts off company
Letting companion nowhere near
To touch or hold
The childlike need
Unexpressed but wailing

It is seen
Not heard

No friend
Calls it by name
To own as his
And comfort it

To lick it's down of hair
Or smell It's sweet
While in arms
With hands that sooth and stroke
And might pat the time on It's bottom

So it is still in It's outside heaped
And shrinking
Layered dry and unoticed
Like every man
Now and then shrinks to be

One solemnly swears to peel it
When it screams
I am not ready
I have no human around me yet
To force into layers
A skin
And a strong heart in the middle

But it needs it's onion
For now
To further the pot
Eventually
Time will tell the stew