It may be Halloween
You can try as much as your can yes try
But I shall spit it right in your eye
This detestable food all green
There is a wicked glint
As I begin to sprint
They stuff me with goo
Why it tastes like poo
I scamper in pain
But all in vain
They have me bound
In this chair so sound
My cries of protest
Go unheeded, no sound
Oh this broccoli I detest
Can't catch me when I run around
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem