On a bump beside a road
Sits a lowly POTATOAD,
Obviously unaware
Of its own existence there.
On its coarse and warty hide,
It has eyes on every side,
Eyes that fail, apparently,
To take note of what they see.
It does not move, it does not think,
It does not eat, it does not drink,
It does not hear or taste or touch…
The POTATOAD does not do much.
The day is hot the ground is parched,
And yet it sits as if it’s starched.
To pose immobile by a road
Suffices for the POTATOAD.
from Scranimals
