Orphani ..........O Poet I do not know?

Little Tomato

little tomato
Last of the dying season

I love you most of all
In the absence of
Your fat brothers and 
Blushing sisters 

Though they were exalted  
IN the suns decadent reasoning
They are gone 

Lttle tomato 
I love your hope 
Clinging alone to the grey black
Final branches of a mothers love

I love your distorted imperfection
Never being and 
Never tasting
You were never to be mine

You hold alone 
In the too chill of nights frost 

In the tall cold of New England
The young are fed the dying rat
and the great owl 
disturbs the silence

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Nadia Shahwan October 16, 2009 at 3:42 PM This is thrilling poem. Very well penned. When you read a poetry with twinge i.e. "tulips sing" you've read in fact a truthful reason behind composing it. Your poem "little tomato" is very well balanced in subject and in self since you've portrayed your mother's love. I'm thankful for commenting my poem though you typed it in with a ruler in your hand because it broke your hurting shell. I wish you all the best, may God bless you poetess.

Sara Kendrick October 1, 2009 at 4:36 AM Those last tomatoes are precious. Pulled some yesterday and had fried green tomatoes. You have made an excellent poem in their honor. Keep writing. Sara