A Letter to my Lover

A romantic evening with a faithful love (photo credit: Lizzy Aiton)

A letter to my lover,

Whom I utmost adore,

Most people think you simple,

Your shape and taste deplore.

 

Still, I can’t help but love you.

I like your shapes and forms.

Fried, mashed or little new,

Your taste all others scorn.

 

This long and lasting love,

Which I can’t seem to shake,

Began five years ago today,

With this job I had to take.

 

My savings were quite shabby,

And Durham had the key.

Who knew that making money,

Would make too you and me?

 

I work for Durham Uni,

Making menus, combinations.

Sometimes I use Google,

To find the tastes of foreign nations.

 

The skill of that escapes me,

I cannot help but say,

Yet I know that all students see,

You work even with chow mein.

 

Penne pasta, rice or bread,

None work better with a curry,

Than a mashed or slow-cooked bed

Of starch, and Indian-Thai fury.

 

Numerous are the options,

Consistency is key.

Those complaining students?

Oh, just let them be.

 

If ever they’re alone or sad,

You, my Potato, do suffice.

You greet them every rainy morning,

Their palates magically entice.

 

Apple of the earth and hearts,

I’ll always treat you nice.

And if anyone has problems –

They can just have the rice.

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