Can I count the ways I love thee?

Oh brown skinned delight.

Always so right.

Cut straight, cut round,

yet you make not a sound,

as I slice, and dice, and mash.

So different each time,

a flavour sublime.

I hardly need add to your delicate taste.

You don’t come in a box,

may taste good with fox?

But, on your own you’re just fine.

My rotund little friend,

favourite meal ‘til the end.

How I love a good baked potato…

(… occasionally with cheese)