In Brine They Lie

The jar sits still on pantry's shelf,
In brine they lie and keep to self.
A pickle’s life, a patient wait,
Their sour sealed, a tangy fate.

We lift them out with careful hands,
A crunch, a snap—one understands.
Some choose sweet and others dill;
Yet pickle’s charm lies deeper still.

What joy they bring with every bite,
A humble snack, a small delight.
Though simple fare upon our plate,
Pickles teach us how to wait.