I sit and wonder at the tomato on the vine.
Shall I leave it there or make it mine?
If I leave it there, it shall wither and spoil;
I shall cut it in slices, toss in mozzarella and oil;
a bit of sea salt and coarse pepper I will add
and, Voila, I will have a delicious salad
to sate my hunger and make me glad.
And so the tomato named Fourth of July I salute
giving thanks for the abundant, delicious juice of the fruit.