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How do you love me? You’ve such pleasing ways.
You give yourself so simply−sliced and boiled,
then wait for me to dress you; lightly oiled
and cooled with coriander, you amaze
sophisticated friends. For salad days
you quiver in long curling strands so, coiled
and scattered artlessly, we prove we’ve toiled
together, and you're great as crudités.

You love my versatility: as cake,
you lie there dense, moist and topped off with a scoop
of butter cream; for me you’ll roast, and take
the warmth of rosemary; you feed my troupe
of starving teens without complaint, and then we make
our long and passionate love in carrot soup.