Strawberries & Robots

In Grandma’s garden, wild and free,

Where blossoms dance and bend with glee,

A fruity world, a wonderland,

With vines that twist and roots that stand.

Between the peaches, apples bright,

And rows of greens in golden light,

A curious hum began to grow—

A sound both new and strangely low.

From metal limbs and gears so tight,

The robots wandered, beaming bright.

With blinking eyes and steady hands,

They tilled the soil, obeyed commands.

But what they loved, beyond all code,

Was where the ruby berries glowed.

The strawberries—so plump, so red,

Like tiny lanterns in their bed.

With careful touch, they’d pick and place,

Admiring each with quiet grace.

They couldn’t taste, they couldn’t feel,

Yet somehow knew that joy was real.

Grandma chuckled, soft and wise,

A knowing twinkle in her eyes.

“Perhaps,” she said, “their gears might hum,

But love for sweetness still can come.”

So in the garden, side by side,

With humans, bots, and plants in stride,

The strawberries grew, and so did we—

A mix of heart and circuitry.