Ode To The Potato

Potato,
to some you are silent,
but to me you are always talking.
Some may describe your beauty as plain,
but really you are more.
Your beauty marks are irreplaceable.
You are presented in so many different ways,
Roasted, mashed, boiled.
But the couch is where you usually sit.
Potato,
You are round, but also bumpy.
Find the pot, boil the water.
You and your friends, plop in unison.
Your once hard inside, is now a beige mush.
Now open with even more opportunities.
Sausages and Steak, both a good pair.

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