the pomegranate crushed underfoot is empty of its blood-red juice. careless harvesters do not know “unless a seed fall and die…” uninformed they stripped the land. one small field now is bare, but all the earth the blood received; absorbed the tears, the blood, the pain. blind marauders could not envision life springing forth, imagining it dead and gone. all-wise Vinedresser sympathetically tending sees; finally the soil watered with tears no longer red, but greening. the blood-red kernels have taken root, sprouted, borne a millionfold, producing now a harvest of plenty. none must go empty away! in new soil grow and feed our brothers. in festal garment now unite, abundance share, but do not forget your thanks to offer. from one pomegranate all the earth is fed.