Hymn to the Humble

 
Let there be chips
or fries from la France
to dance with my fork
on this plate
Gimme dips I can dunk
just using my hands
for the moments my mouth
cannot wait

May they be golden
like warm summer days
that whirl with delight
on the tongue
'till I'm blind as my waistline
reminds me again
I could never forgo
just one

I don't think I'll bother
with burgers or fish
the effort
seems almost too rich
but I'll always make time
to embark on the climb
through glorious mountains
of chips