Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

The last tomato
Small round and red
Mid October of gray rain days
Tomato vines hang
Dreary
Withered
Facing winter's white blanket sleep
Sliced thin
With knife's razor edge
Pulp juice runs free
Toast arises
Scent
Life
Slices slide from my hand
Coffee brewing
The last tomato

i always lament the passing of the sun and light and life season
but i suppose the harvest brings some solace ...

I liked this. Well written.

mmm love home made pasta sauce= great poem