Peter Piper

Peter Piper

Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers, A peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked; If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers, Where's the peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked? Peter, a fellow known for his love of the tangy, Stood proudly beside his overflowing basket so jangly. Each pepper, a jewel, green, red, and so yellow, Pickled to perfection, a taste oh so mellow. But where would they go, these peppers so bright? A market stall, perhaps, a culinary delight? Or maybe a feast, for friends far and wide, With laughter and stories, peppers piled high. He pictured them sizzling, on a pan nice and hot, Next to juicy burgers, a taste to be fought over a lot. Or perhaps in a salad, a colorful crunch, Adding a peppery zing, with every yummy lunch. Suddenly, a voice, a chirp and a tweet, A tiny hummingbird, looking for a treat. "Those peppers," it chirped, with a flutter of wings, "Would make a most delightful nectar, the tastiest of things!" Peter Piper pondered, a smile on his face, Sharing his bounty, a most noble embrace. He carefully placed a few peppers on a vine, And watched as the hummingbird happily began to dine. So, the peck of pickled peppers, not all did he sell, But shared with a friend, a story to tell. For kindness, like peppers, can bring joy and delight, Spreading its sweetness, both morning and night.