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By the summer beachside, under skies so wide, Lalitha stands, where the palm trees bide. In a hat of violet, bold and grand, With a watermelon slice in her gentle hand. The sun beats down, a fiery crown, Yet she smiles, not a single frown. Juice like rubies, sweet and red, Cooling her spirit, lifting her head. Behind her, pineapples wait their turn, But it’s the melon that makes her yearn. A pause in the journey, a slice of delight, In that quiet cart bathed in tropical lig...
