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micropatterns of nature 

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Terre des pommes

God bless our mother earth
for creating red tomatoes,
and, what has greater worth,
a variety of nice potatoes.

They can be boiled, stewed or fried,
or in the stove cheese gratinated,
nice salads I have often tried,
and by distilllation been irritated.

The world knows them by many names:
In the old world they are called pommes,
chips in the land of cricket games,
and French fries by the Yankee hommes.

The biggest are grown by our peasants,
the tastiest come from the Northern Andes.
To Walter Raleigh we own their presence,
and seed material to the Netherlandes.

So, who needs pure bread for the poor?
For it requires work-intensive process.
If potatoes can be grown by every boor:
It’s hacking only, and no mess.

Instead of supporting grain collectors,
who like good feeding of themselves,
we just need agricultural instructors,
to fill third world’s provision shelves.