In a tank of chrome with a neon glow,
Swam a goldfish named Cy, quite techno-pro.
His fins were gears, his eyes could scan,
Every byte and blip in Aida’s plan.

Aida Blocklace, bold and bright,
Wore goggles that sparkled with blockchain light.
Her lab was a maze of wires and steam,
Where crypto and pastries shared one dream.

She stirred a pie with a whisk of brass,
While humming tunes from a crypto jazz.
The crust was flaky, the filling—odd:
It shimmered like code from a lightning rod.

Cy blinked twice, then gave a whirl,
As bitcoins bubbled in sugary swirl.
“Are those… real coins?” he chirped with glee,
“They’re baking themselves? That’s new to me!”

Aida winked, then flipped her spoon, “
The recipe’s based on a crypto rune.
A dash of hash, a pinch of chain,
And voilà! Sweet gains with zero pain.”

The oven beeped, the pie was done,
It glowed like a freshly mined blockchain sun.
Cy did flips in his liquid dome,
Dreaming of snacks and a blockchain home.

So if you hear a digital splash,
And smell a pie with a hint of cash,
It might be Cy, in goggles wide,
Watching Aida bake coins with pride.