Tomatoes on the Windowsill

Tomatoes on the window sill
Look out beyond the garden hill.
They seldom talk; they sit quite still.

Too small and ripe before their time,
For reasons somewhat short of crime
Were plucked and taken from the vine.

Like children forced to grow too soon
Now grow no more. Their reddish bloom
Belies the smallness that's their doom.

But other fruits are still untried.
Among the leaves their bulk they hide
With self-indulgent rot inside.

Ross Olson

Send comments to me at ross{at}rossolson.org

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