Those spuds were all dug up,
using a fork of tempered steel,
The potatoes with all seeing eyes,
Met harvest with a fleeting glimpse.
Popped neatly in a washing up bowl.
Given a wholesome freshening shower.
Into a cooker where the pressure built so.
In their hearts they softened you know.
The bubbling water, it did go.
Pressure off with the flick of a switch,
The cook she stabbed them,
The *******.
Relieved the rather hot sensation,
Through the colander they went dry and amazing.
Drizzled them with just a trickle of milk,
Added a touch of butter and pepper.
Now with the seasoning all complete,
Mashed to bits.
Let's all eat.
Dinners up,
Sweet!
(c) Livvi