To a Turnip

Don’t you just love turnips?
I most certainly do
Steamed, mashed, stewed et cetera
I ‘do’ turnips; I really do
But if there’s one turnip I really don’t like
It’s the Tory Turnip Parliamentarian type
Who in their haste, rash of thought
Verbiage in words unwisely wrought
Belittling their kindred fed-up folk
Making slight of what’s no joke
The empty shelves advertising that’s Britain’s broke
With no salad days in sight
What are we to do?
Eat turnips …
Perhaps they haven’t realised
That, actually 
Many of us 
Already do