Ode To My Pickle

I ran a race.
I ran well and far.
I won a frozen pickle in a jar.

When my pickle broke free from his cage of ice,
we shared a day that was truly quite nice.

Spinning and twisting and reading good books,
we cared not for the people who gave us queer looks.

The day progressed,
my pickle appeared stressed and I knew that our time together digressed.

Playing with my pickle had caused his demise.
He looked like a shriveled up cat turd with eyes.

I placed him up high in my trophy case.
A bittersweet smile fixed on my face
and a feeling of pride for my pickle 1st place.