A backyard planter bursting with
Tomatoes
on the vine
Provided
treats for several mouths
And
one of them was mine.
My
son’s the one who grew ‘em.
His
daughter and her aunt
Plucked
only those deemed red enough;
The
rest stayed on the plant.
While
picking was in progress,
My
son trimmed leaves that died,
Which
my grandgirl helped me gather up
To
toss off to the side.
Though
not all family members
Helped
to make the chore complete,
We
all reaped the rewards
Of
those tomatoes, ripe and sweet.
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