The Writers' Circle

Far below, beneath the soil
Angry Potatoes plot their rise
No longer will they fritter in oil,
Never again be reduced to fries.

Unleashing their fury, expressing their rage
Potatoes will fight with bulbous pride.
Upon dinner plates, take centre stage
Relegating all others to merely sides.

On great cities, armies will march
With stalky legs and stunted arms
To prove their value is more than starch
They will take our lands and rule our farms.

And once secured ultimate power,
Generals, leaders, their kind will prosper
Then will come their finest hour,
The end is nigh for the parsnip impostor.

But all is lost, there's been a reap,
A violent reap of mass proportions
Dreams of glory, a harvested heap
Potato Revolution, a complete abortion.

We will not hear their cry, their voice
Potatoes forever just a side
Butchered in the style of your choice,
Boiled, roasted, mashed or fried.