Lived a lady, known for her pineapple.
She grew them so sweet, so juicy, so right,
A tropical treasure, pure delight.
Each day she'd tend with care so fine,
To each leafy crown and growing vine.
Her garden, a canvas of green and gold,
Where the pineapple saga would unfold.
The lady whispered secrets into the breeze,
That danced through the orchard with such ease.
And pineapples listened, growing grand,
The finest in all the sun-kissed land.
One day a traveler came to see,
This fruit of legend, from far across the sea.
He marveled at the taste, the scent, the sight,
And knew the lady's pineapple was just right.
So here's to the lady, her patience and toil,
For nurturing pineapples from the soil.
In the grove where the sun's warm saga spun,
Her pineapples ripened, second to none.
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