My window sill proudly displays
A grove of tomato plants
That welcome Winter’s sunlight rays
With eagerness, green elegance.
These seedlings sprouted from a fruit
Purchased at the grocery.
Each seed launched in pursuit
Of root and stem, leaf tracery.
March light sees stems weak and thin,
The tender leaves are tentative,
Conforming to growth’s discipline.
Still much snow sits out there
Bleeding slowly into Spring,
Icing up in night’s cold air.
My plants await what time will bring.
They dream of June with sultry days
Where green displaces Winter’s white
When skies glow blue, away from grays,
And hungry leaves gobble light.
The stems by then, knobbed and thick
Will bear the still green rounded fruit,
Orange tinged, too young to pick,
Intense in skills to transmute.
Transmute the message from the sun,
Whisper it in water’s ear
Command the soil its will be done,
Speak to air, loud and clear.
At last, at Fall, the pregnant globes
Now package ingenuity
Of evolution in red robes –