In gardens where soft breezes tend, Lives Angela, our mother hen, Feathers bathed in golden gleam, Where cottage dreams and vineyards teem. Her heart belongs to Macy’s aisles, Where treasures bloom in endless style; Yet when the sun dips low and bold, To Martha's Vineyard, home she holds. Amidst the grapevines’ gentle sway, She treads where ocean whispers play— Angela, both fierce and sweet, Her wings span worlds where comfort meets.