Ode to a Tomato

Small or large, red or yellow
nothing can compare
to having one's own mater plant
on one's own deck so fair.

Upon rising I always check
to see what may be ripe,
and smiling, pluck the juicy fruit
from vines held up by pipe.

(or bamboo...whatever - you try rhyming bamboo.)

Into the colander they go
to have grime washed away.
And then the process doth begin
of what to make today.

Salsa, salad, sauce or sandwich,
it really matters not.
The main thing is to eat them all
before they start to rot.

(Seriously. Three tomato plants and I'm overrun with tomatoes. Who knew?)

They've weathered storms and broken stems
and suckers tween the branches.
Now I wish I could remember if
my grandma boils or blanches.

For canning is the way I see
to preserve summer's boon.
To drive away the winter's cold
that's bound to come too soon.

Dear tomato, my sweet friend,
you're more than just a food.
No matter what you are placed in
you make it twice as good.