Bodies of the pomegranates
And spread their almost-ripe
Seeds pink on the pink bricks
In a quiet corner of the patio
So the finches can come and feast
Will I just satisfy the wry strategies
Of the cat who lies in wait
Behind the asparagus fern
Which has finally gotten fuller
This year and so provides
Just the right amount of cover
How like the heart he hovers
When in the darkness it hides
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