When in this garden I behold,

1. The fruit of woman grown for man.
   

The freshest pickings, young and old.

1. This produce never makes the can.
   

Some with narrow, pointed tips,

1. Dark and white, or even yellow.
   

Carrot shapes and sweet parsnips,

1. Just enough to feed a fellow.
   

The sweetness of a ripe tomato,

1. Home grown, melting in the mouth.
   

Sweeter than the sweet potato,

1. Better tasting in the south.
   

An avocado, soft to touch,

1. While feeling still a little firm,
   

Is something that can please me much,

1. Unless I feel the bosom squirm.
   

It’s just one of my special topics,

1. Papayas ripe, and mangos mellow.
   

Hot fruit from the sunny tropics,

1. Makes me want to shout and bellow.
   

My fruit most favored from the vine,

1. The pendulous watermelon.
   

On this, a football team could dine.

1. A feast you want to tell on.
   

If more than mouthful is a waste,

1. I can’t say that I’m thrifty.
   

I want as much as I can taste,

1. Until I’m well past fifty.
   

end