My pomegranate-tree was in blossom.
It was covered in orange-red blooms, each of which was hiding a secret inside, waiting for the bees.
But the bees never came.
The promise of growing fruit fell on the hard dry ground with the orange-red petals and broke into pieces.
The promise of love evaporated with the morning dew of 13th July and disappeared. Left.
My beautiful tree was abandoned.
It stood there bloomless, fruitless, hopeless.
It used to be the queen of the garden, but now it's crying.
And it is looking forward to next spring.
Maybe then...