Tomatoes On My Shelf

The last of my tomatoes are in a basket I keep in the corner of my kitchen shelf. I can’t remember when I picked them But there are much too many to eat myself. All summer long the crop was good - Each vine strained hard against its stake. There was more than enough for just one man With plenty left after what the wildlife would take. I tended to each from seed to seedling, And saw each mature to a full-fledged vine. From little green spheres to red ripe tomatoes I blushed with pride knowing these were mine. Yet these remaining tomatoes are a curious sight, In fact they are rather an ugly scene. I think I have kept them much too long Because they are once again turning green.