Potato, oh humble and round,
Your starchy heart, a sustenance,
In soil's embrace, you are found,
Feeding many with your abundance.

From russets to fingerlings small,
Baked, fried or mashed with care,
To red and gold, we love them all,
Your versatility, none can compare.

In fields, you're sown row by row,
And when the harvest moon appears,
Underneath the night's warming glow,
We gather you, with joy and cheers.

Oh, how you nourish and sustain,
And as we delve into your feast,
Through sunshine, drought or rain,
Potatoes are amidst.
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