The Potato Boy Poem by Mark Nichols

Don't worry, babies
You're lucky just like me
We are the way we are
What else could we be?

I am the moss on the cross on the hill
Plowed into the hill
By a farmer named bill

Yes, I am a potato
So please have your fill

Four and Twenty onions
Baked in a pie
Eat your fill of me
And don't ask why

Help yourselves
Help yourselves
Help yourselves to the potato

I am as lucky as lucky can be
Like a potato
Any potato you see
When you mash a potato
Think of me