Ode To A Ripe Tomato

In ancient days you would have been
the norm amongst the many.
But now the combine harvester
has made you rare within plenty.

You're smell is like a musky rose,
you're color warm and red.
In olden time our mothers bought you
soft and easily bled.

Your cousins, found in shopping malls,
are hard and filled with greenish seed.
They have no scent and otherwise
will never bruise or bleed.

I found you at the farmer's stall,
in pile of serried match.
But you were perfect, best of lot,
the prize of the whole batch.

I'll take you home and eat you raw,
with neither salt nor dressing.
The sunlight soaked into your skin,
will fill my heart with blessing.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner