A Potato or Two

Sam Gamgee sings about the joys of potatoes. Lyrics: [Verse] Give me a fire and an iron pot, A little clean water a sheltered spot, A root from the earth and a pinch of salt, And I'll make a supper no king could fault. For gold may glitter and banners may fly, But a warm full belly is hard to deny, And the road seems shorter, the dark less deep, When there's something hot in a bowl to eat. [Chorus] Oh, brown in the furrow and pale inside, They'll go with your supper however they're tried, Baked in the embers or browned in the pan, They're honest good eating for hobbit or man. When bread has gone hard and the meat's running low, There's one little treasure I'm glad to still know: Dig down in the garden bring up what you grew— There's half of a feast in a tater or two. [Verse] I've eaten beneath trees with rain on my back, With smoke in my eyes and a stone for a sack, I've counted out crumbs when the miles still were long, And thought of the Shire to help me along. Of gardens in springtime of kettles that sing, Of mushrooms and onions and every good thing, And soil on your fingers at close of the day, When supper is waiting and worry's away. [Chorus] Oh, brown in the furrow and pale inside, They'll go with your supper however they're tried, Boiled till they're tender or mashed up just right, Or dropped in a stew at the end of the night. Let grand folk have silver and dishes that shine, A plain wooden bowl and a spoon will do fine, For hunger's no lordling and hunger's no fool— It knows a good dinner by one simple rule. [Verse] There are places where nothing green cares to grow, Where the wind carries ashes wherever you go, And there I have wished for one garden-row, One patch of good earth and the things that I know. For a garden means someone expects to remain, To see summer sunshine and soft autumn rain, To plant something small with the faith it will rise, And trust there'll be mornings beneath kinder skies. [Outro] So give me the earth and the work of my hands, The good common gifts that a plain fellow understands, A kettle, a fireside, a table, a chair, And somebody hungry who's glad that I'm there. The wide world is wondrous, and strange things I've seen, But I'd trade half its marvels for fields growing green, And come home at evening, when wandering is through, To a pot on the fire and a potato or two.