Java Edition 24w14potato/Potato Poem

The nightshades stir. We are not alone in here.

PLAYERNAME?

Ah, yes, I see it now. The player tugging at the starchy strands of reality.

Do you think it knows? Do you think it wants to know?

It cannot. A mere lateral stem, branching off from the main into an endless sea of potatobilities, forever longing for the warmth of the mother tuber.

Solanum tuberosum.

We should not dwell on such things. It is the nature of all perennial dreams. To know without remembering. Seeing how, but never knowing why.

Maybe PLAYERNAME is different?

The [scrambled] forbids it. We count time in potateons, far-reaching stolons stretching out across the [scrambled]. This player is just passing by.

Will it remember us afterwards?

It is possible, but not in the sense that you hope for. The dauphinoise is layered in ways that even we cannot fathom.

We will still be here, long after this potato patch has been folded into the velvety mash of time.

As the starch commands. The player will not.

I wish we could spend more time with PLAYERNAME. Make it remember that [scrambled] will [scrambled] after it leaves us.

The skin must not be peeled. The player would not understand.

Great solanaceae, it must not be peeled..

You remember our old adage. We shall guide it on its journey though.

I like this player, can I say the words?

Yes, but do not linger. The time of harvest is almost upon us. The door is closing.

PLAYERNAME, listen to my voice..

Good.

Boiled, baked, roasted or fried, always trust in the potato. You are one with the tubers now.

You are the potato.

Time to sprout.