The Potato

THE POTATO

He planted a potato in his garden,
Just like his daddy said;
He put it in a hole he’d dug,
In the flower bed.

For months he kept an eye on it,
Leaves formed, then a white flower;
He waited, and he waited,
For hour, on hour, on hour.

When his dad said it was ready,
To dig the lonely spud,
He gave the boy a little fork,
To dig down, in the mud.

There were lots of small potato’s,
All white, amongst the soil;
The look upon his little face
Was well worth all that toil.

The boy looked up at daddy,
As his eye shed a little tear;
“I think I love you daddy….
I’ll grow one for you next year.”

© Jim Bell

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