winter potatoes

They're lying out of sight,
Deep beneath the surface,
Deep in the frozen earth,

They can wait.
It might be years,
It might be decades


But they're there,
Waiting for the light,
Waiting to be found.


Until that moment
When they're seen,
When they're recognised,


They've always been there.
This moment has come.
This moment has always been



Ani Smith said...

Damn it, Pete! That puts my whiny little 'poem' earlier to shame!

I hate you. Officially.

[Except, not really. Just please stop writing so bloody well, though, seriously. It's downright rude. ;)]

Cheerful One said...

Would you like me to bake your potatoes?

jem said...

I never thought a poem about potatoes could interest me quite this much. Its like there is far more going on, like they are some higher life form lying in wait to unearth themselves and take over the world!

Z said...

They're deep, potatoes. And they keep coming back in the middle of your flower beds when they were just planted in the first place to clean the soil, dammit!