I sleep beneath the soil where nobody can see Growing in darkness quite happily I start out small but can feed a crowd And when I am cooked I make people proud I can be baked until my skin turns crisp Or mashed up soft with a buttery twist Drop me in oil and I become a fry Cut me into pieces and watch them disappear nearby I wear a rough little coat of brown But peel it away and there is gold underneath I may look plain and humble at first Yet kitchens around the world know my worth

When you are asked to do this, you either pull up a pistol from your pocket, or take your pencil or brush and a piece of paper. No subject? Then let your imagination sky-rocket.

No cape, no fame, no thank you note, I dive into the dirty moat, One hard push and two or three, I set the trapped water free.

Leaves like a fig, But I never grow very big. Small emeralds and amethysts On vines that bend and twist. Drunk on the spirit of me, Many men go crazy.

I’m beneath your feet where the waves roll in, a million tiny grains that stick to your skin.