This is what happens when an English teacher has a lack of books to review and a surplus of bruschetta to eat. Enjoy!
O king and lord of all the garden's fruit,
And harbinger of summer's golden days:
Without the benefit of harp and lute,
Thy lowly servant humbly sings thy praise.
To bubbling sauces thou dost bring rich life;
Or summer soups, sipped slowly by the pool.
Thy slices fall, slain warriors, by my knife;
In sandwiches, thou art the Golden Rule.
I dream of thee as winter's days stretch on
And blanket green with white, bleak mile by mile;
When every vestige of thy root is gone,
Thy scarlet lobes and crevices beguile.
But dreams of thee, like birds, must travel south;
Tomato, thou art happiest in my mouth.
Feeling poetic? Tell us how you feel about the arrival of fall, the end of summer, or whatever the seasons have brought you!
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