Tropical beauty, taken from home,
Shipped ‘cross the sea, o’er oceans of foam.
Sold to the corp, all boxed in a crate,
Labeled and bagged, according to date.
Trucked to a store, with a logo of green,
Put on a shelf, according to bean.
Grabbed from that shelf, by a man on his out,
Who promises love, which she’ll find, there’s no doubt.
The man takes this beauty, and grinds her to dust,
Having his way with her, destroy her he must.
With dawn in the air, and sleep in his eyes,
It’s time for the beauty to face her demise.
With water to boil, he packs her down tight,
This tropical beauty, now facing her plight.
Through process of habit, the beauty’s now turned,
To a liquid of sorts, a royalty earned.
Her soul now in cup, her shell tossed away,
She meets some hot milk, to start the man’s day.
Now absorbed, disappeared, now otherwise gone,
By her love, in her man, through the morning lives on.
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