Solanum Tuberosum

Solanum Tuberosum

Sprouting out from the dank, old sod, you grew,
The babe of nurturing Mother Nature,
A starchiness that makes hearts feel anew,
Tawny brown hues complete its portraiture.

Not exclusive to the Irish people,
The rich culinary necessity,
Restaurants the church and you: the steeple,
The frying contributes to obesity.

O potato, we are analogous,
Our somber eyes tell tales of maturation,
Differences not seen with analysis,
We are round with a bland conformation.

But tater, your beauty has a luster,
That leaves my unsightliness flustered.

Emily Williams ’18 || Online Content Editor

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