The children were nestled
and snuggled all down.
Just the mention of tomatoes
and they’d sleep with a frown.

When down in the basement
arose such a clatter,
as I carried canning jars
and tried not to splatter.

The moon up above
the summer’s bad drought,
couldn’t keep me from sleeping.
I darn near passed out!

In morning I woke
and gathered some “brave”,
to face the mountain of tomatoes
who’d make me their slave.

I peeled and I cored.
I boiled and I canned,
with undone tomatoes
starting to demand.

After hours that were long
and a day that dragged by,
I finished two bushels
and never started to cry.

When my cute farmer came in,
I had little to say.
My hair, face, and make-up
looked like the roadkill of the day.

He kissed me and quickly sprang to his tractor,
plowing more land.
A hundred more bushels
he’d factor!