Compared to you, all others should be hung.
Your flesh between my teeth--so sweet, so right.
Oh Artichoke, your praises shall be sung!

In butter sauce, your taste screams on my tongue.
Your flavor causes me to feel a flight.
Compared to you, all others should be hung.

My pasta dish is dull and tastes like dung,
Until you graced the sauce and fixed my plight.
Oh Artichoke, your praises shall be sung!

When forced to eat without you there, I wrung
My hands. I longed for you--to take a bite.
Compared to you, all others should be hung.

Your leaves are tough, but when they are but sprung,
The flesh inside fills me with such delight.
Oh Artichoke, your praises shall be sung!

My love affair with you cannot be flung.
Your worth means more than gold. For you, I’d fight.
Compared with you, all others should be hung.
Oh Artichoke, your praises shall be sung!

Author's Note: A Villanelle is a nineteen-line poem with two rhymes throughout, consisting of five tercets and a quatrain, with the first and third lines of the opening tercet recurring alternately at the end of the other tercets and with both repeated at the close of the concluding quatrain. Rhyme scheme is ABA ABA ABA ABA ABA ABAA. It is traditionally written in Iambic pentameter when in English.

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