The way your luscious green tips are a sponge for bold flavor,
Leaves my wholehearted love, for you, to not waiver.
Your top is so moist, leaving me under a spell,
For how you stand as so good, you have left to dwell.
Yet what’s under you is chalky, unpleasant, and bad.
How could something so good grow from something so sad?
Your bottoms have no flavor, and are very bland,
The opposite of you, bursting with flavor and quite grand.
You are so good, you should exile the bottoms,
Then I’d have the most perfect bite, without any problems.
Oh tops of broccoli, my one true love,
Those troublesome bottoms you must get rid of.