PomeGranite
The pome was sweet
Never wanted to quit
Might've thought so
But never acted on it
Had a million seeds within
Each akin to some thought
Some were in the plates of others
Some were left inside to rot
Pome wanted to recite and sow
From poems to seeds it had
Had no column not a row
To write and hence the skin got bad
Pome was sweet red
Seeds were stiff white
Some had the juicy coverings
Some rotted and lost their might
It was sure just red pome
Not the granite deep in the crust
Pome might look stiff outside
It's nowhere near the rocky rust
It tended to become like granite
Pome tried, pome failed
It mended itself day and night
And finally it realized
The rotten seeds are futile
Not every seed should go in plates
Not every pome gets an eater
And it's okay to not to elucidate
Pome is now different
Tend not to worry about rotten seeds
Pome accepts the partial sweetness
It now trim or just pass by weeds
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