Had he but words enough, and time
He would be suited to our clime;
His mistress could decline and balk
While Marvell never ceased to talk
In adoration of each breast,
Yet never put her to the test.
Time's winged chariot urged him on,
But he would prate and prate anon,
Till, bored, she all his lust declined,
Convinced he'd only f-- her MIND! 

(Or, When I was Anhungered and Athirst, 0 Brussels
Sprout with Buttered Breadcrumbs, Where Were You?)

The parsnip and the artichoke
Are not for me. And not for me
The turnip, crook'd neck squash,
And gassy kohlrabi.

The cabbage and the lowly leek
I leave alone. I leave alone
The soup greens, white radishes,
And peppers in the minstrone.

But spinach (creamed), corn-on-the--cob
Is fit for kings. And fit for kings
The potato, rice wild or tame
And all such fattening things!