She picks out the good fruit; she has such an eye for them!
The bruised apples she leaves to one side, they'll feed the goat,
The soft strawberries she stacks in a crate, they'll do for jam.
She cleans each berry, each orange, each peach
And places them ever so delicately and politely into the jug.
She deliberates, speculates.... She can't mess this one up.
She's been served so many you'd think she'd be an expert
But she doesn't trust herself. She's never made one herself.
This is her chance.... The ingredients are of so many different
Flavours, colours, textures, fundamentally it is one recipe.
With careful consideration she hits BLEND. One more sour mix could break her.
She tastes her creation. She loves it, more than anything
She'd ever had before - it's natural like life, she's discovered life
In her own wee, battered jug. She knows this one won't turn sour.

The End

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