Oh potato, you thin-skinned shapeshifter,

teach me your resilience.

They cut, fry, mash, and drown you

in butter, ketchup, and sour cream.

But I still regard you with the utmost esteem.

You dominate the dish

no matter the occasion.

Breakfast, lunch, dinner or snack,

Your earthy, enticing taste

keeps me coming back.

In the beginning, you were buried beneath the Earth,

A raw spud deprived of sunlight.

But since then you've traveled from the McDonald's down the road

to the exquisite platter of the queen.

You truly master the dinner scene.

Mashed into creamy clouds of heaven,

fried into crispy sticks of golden galore,

curly, waffled, scalloped and glazed.

You truly are a jack-of-all-trades,

leaving even the pickiest of eaters amazed.

Your skin is thin, but you're still strong

and true to your roots.

You're never afraid to peel away your exterior

and reveal what lies underneath,

for that is even more superior.

Oh potato, you sublime superfood.

Envied by yams who could never compare.

Because you, potato, are a buried treasure,

never failing to fill me

with blissful, genuine pleasure.