“Rita from Regina Saskatoon droll dry humor dog named buddy lady farmer”

In the curl of the prairie, where the wheat stretches wide,  
Rita from Regina plays wit as her guide.  
She farms on the borders near Saskatoon's hue,  
With droll, dry rejoinders and a sharp point of view.

Her hat holds the sunlight, her boots wear the clay,  
She plucks jokes from the wind as she tends to her hay.  
The fields call her Rita, the sower of cheer,  
While Buddy—her dog—always pads close and near.

Buddy, part collie and wholly devoted,  
Leaps through the stubble as harvesters gloated.  
His bark carries laughter, the echo of glee,  
For Rita's sharp humor sets all spirits free.

Neighbors will gather at dusk’s golden door,  
To trade tales of hailstorms and what next they’ll implore.  
But none spin a story quite clever and shrewd  
As Rita from Regina with quips finely tuned.

With a wink, she’ll remark on the ficklest crop  
(“If canola could gossip, it never would stop.”)  
Her punchlines land gently like flax in the breeze,  
Her wit, a soft rain meant to comfort and tease.

Rita and Buddy, ’neath Saskatchewan sky,  
Lend salt to the sweetness as summer winds sigh.  
For humor, she knows, is the best thing to sow—  
And with every dry chuckle, her sunflower rows grow.

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