Sep 2, 2022
Love is mash potato
.
Grandad grows his own potatoes,
Working with the rough earth,
Down in his allotment,
With the foxes and the strays,
Who know to come to him for help.
He brings what he has grown to Grandma,
Who carefully peels and chops them.
They hiss and spit in the saucepan,
But she makes them soft and tender.
Gently mashing them,
Generous with the milk and butter,
Smiling when they're just right.
She heaps it onto a her favourite plate,
The one decorated with little birds
And serves it too a fussy infant
Sitting at the table with the princess mug
Next to a half finished jigsaw
She babbles 'Thankoo'
Too young to realise
How great this gift she has truly is
