Summary: A fictional first home-grown tomato turns patient care into a small shared celebration, with saved seeds carrying the moment forward. No private event or autobiographical experience is asserted.

I tucked a seed into a pot of clay,
And gave its patch of brown a drink each day.
I saw a thin green finger find the sun,
Then counted leaves and cheered for every one.

One small sun in a coat of red,
More than a seed in a sleepy bed.
I cut it in two, and the afternoon grew;
Half of the sunshine was waiting for you.

We ate it warm beside the kitchen door;
A little salt; we did not ask for more.
I saved the seeds and laid them out to dry,
Small promises beneath the open sky.

One small sun in a coat of red,
More than a seed in a sleepy bed.
I cut it in two, and the afternoon grew;
Half of the sunshine was waiting for you.