Just a new poem for the season.
Seasonal
My tomatoes froze last night
and this morning awoke mushy inside,
a green as dark as pea soup
hanging heavy on their now limp limbs.
I twisted them off their vine
then just dumped them on the ground
to let them rot back into the soil
and create a natural fertilizer for next year.
Any day the frost will be followed by snow
and winter will cover their seasonal patch,
where even though I planted them late
they grew all summer strong and flourished toward their fall.
end
As always, comments, criticisms, and comebacks welcome.
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