It was September
Late in the season
Neighbors tilled gardens under
I wondered the reason?

For my plants seemed perky
And without care
As fall then fell
And chill filled the air

My plum tomatoes
Then mostly green
Defenseless to creatures
Before red could be seen

All but one, on the vine you sat
So sad but serene
A diminutive refuge
Who would weather Irene

Then came a Snow
With incredible fury
You did not fall
None the less weary

I plucked and placed you
In my kitchen window
no hope that survival
or ripening would follow

Then each morning
As I worked o'er the sink
You smiled and winked
And began turning pink

You slowly matured
As I greeted each day
You seemed to smile
Enjoying your stay

Now finally red
And pleasantly plump
You shared your love
In a spicy clump
 
I savored your taste
And your pure essence
A noble survivor
Now a salsa presence
 
One fine tomato!
Your resilience shown
As fine a tomato
That I've ever known!
 
~Of course there was that girl in Jamaica
But that's another poem.