A cry from my greenhouse which is loaded
with unripened tomatoes, and still it rains.
Roundly raw
There they hang,
Virginal.
Still not a blush in sight,
But daily they grow and rapidly burgeon.
Oh where is that promised sun ?
Perkily plump
There they sit,
Curvaceous.
Smooth as a milk-maid's rump,
While maturest sweet juices stay earthed.
Oh where is that ripening sun ?
Gracefully greedy
There they drip,
Gluttonous.
Untinted, yet drinking in feed,
And heading for yet more Tomato Chutney.
Oh where is that wretched sun ?
tomatoes ....I wish they knew that their beauty could be so well defined one day ....they would remain virgin all their lives ...