Withered it looks in winter
Holding a few hard fruit
Every fall losing another limb
Every spring a few less blooms
I fear it will all be firewood soon
And this garden lose its focal point
The thing that lifts us weeds
And flowers when we all look up
Great grandfather pomegranate tree
Who had a poetry and a purpose
When it left its native land
Prepares to leave that all behind
And take up residence here
In my eternal mind
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