Ode to Potato
Can I count the ways I love thee?
Oh brown skinned delight.
Always so right.
Cut straight, cut round,
yet you make not a sound,
as I slice, and dice, and mash.
So different each time,
a flavour sublime.
I hardly need add to your delicate taste.
You don’t come in a box,
may taste good with fox?
But, on your own you’re just fine.
My rotund little friend,
favourite meal ‘til the end.
How I love a good baked potato…
(…with cheese)
~~~
This was written a while ago for a competition run on Wattpad by Mera2876. I think for some reason it had to have the words box and fox and a couple of others in it, but I found it sat on my pen drive, so thought I'd chuck it up for a laugh.
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The Tree of Dreams
PoetryRandom poetry and the occasional drabble or dribble of other short random thought from the depths my somewhat bemused brain, or possibly Brian if the schizophrenic misspelt pseudo entity that lives up there is up to his old tricks... poems from the...
