'Chips', a poem

I used to be so fond of chips,
That nothing else would pass my lips.

And though my mother gave me veg,
I hid it all behind the hedge.

The fruit I needed for my skin,
All ended up inside the bin.

So football mad, I couldn't see,
That what I needed (So do we!)

Was food of many different kinds,
It got so I was simply blind.

To all the joys of varied food,
the textures, tastes and smells so good.

I got so bored that in a pip,
I turned into a giant - chip!