Potatoes at Rest

Gold plated potatoes, leaning against the grass
Preparing for the auction, so adroit
And derelict, pursuing a broken cloth
Like a planet where the rain never stops

I was missing
Until you found my hydrangea
Now I am seeded
In the rain
On this foreign planet
Too soiled
To forfeit my rest
Where the cherry apples do not scorn
Or give grace to a fool like me