I love you, my Darling, like a turnip,
buried ‘neath the loamy soil, loves its home,
to force those spiny roots so with a grip
does plant in place and thus refuse to roam.
Spade me not, my Own, don’t disturb the weeds,
this tap runs deep and on its course unswerves
to wrap about thine heart it doth proceed
to hold and love you with exalted verve!
Unhoed, this great attachment holds the soil
to fertilize your joy with stewed delight,
let not this soup turn thoughts to some embroil,
take stock and stir as my be-tubered knight
To love me more and radish all my doubt
so water here our ground to save from drought.
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