Fruits of my Labor

I stand at the open window
On an evening warm and damp.
The steam rises off the canning pot
I slowly switch on a lamp.
The tomatoes in their canning jars
The children at my elbow
At the open window I stand
Hear the frogs croak their nightly show.
One great mystery in life
Is how I came to be
Standing in my raincoat
With a sea of children surrounding me.

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