I Almost Forgot, I'm a Poet First...

I went to a blog today and read the writer either is or wants to be a poet and it occurred to me I haven't posted a poem in a long while. I believe I posted this one probably a year ago but I'll do it again.

My father-in-law was talking once about 'love apples' and it occurred to me I might write a poem about them. It was only later that I remembered that a love apple is a tomato. By then the deed had been done; the poem written. So, here it is.

Love Apple

Winesap and Johnnie and Red Roman Beauty,
These fruits are so sweet and so firm and so round-
You must bend down the limb, pick them off while their growing
Or they'll shrivel and die and fall off on the ground.

The tree is their Father , the Earth is their Mother,
The limbs get their life from the rain and the sun
And give birth to the leaves and the buds and the blossoms
And love apples grow when the cycle is done.

When they're tender and tasty and they're just right for plucking,
If you gently caress them and you pick them with care-
They will nourish and fill you and their juice will enrich you,
But if the blossoms are crushed all the tree will be bare.

You must tend to the roots where the life blood is starting,
To enrichen the soil, you must spread it around,

Because there's nothing as sad as an aging love apple

That has withered and died and fallen off on the ground.
Later...