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

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Until next time . . . I love you