The Pensive Potato
The Pensive Potato, he knows not what
He’s so worried about, what’s the scuttlebutt?
Does he think about war?
Does he think about ruin?
Does he think about becoming a Boston Bruin?
The Pensive Potato, he doesn’t know how
He is able to worry or furrow his brow
Does he think about sin?
Does he think about death?
When pulled out of the ground does he take a deep breath?
The Pensive Potato, when he looks around
He sees skillet and burner in butter he’s drowned
Does he know he exists?
Well, he probably doesn’t
In fact, he’s quite sure that he probably wasn’t
* * *
Until next time . . . I love you