This is called "The Pomegranate Seed."
And I guess it's a fable.
"Every night, they're at the bar,
the young woman, the old man.
And every night, he tells me his stories.
They're all the same--
near the end of life, regret regret.
But the stories differ in the details.
And some seem to be heading toward a different fate.
So I listen.
What's strange is that the older the story,
the smaller and the younger he becomes,
and the more I begin to understand our common ground.
I'm hooked.
Then too soon, it's closing time.
He's tiny as a pomegranate seed in the woman's hand.
She slips him into the folds of her dress.
Night after night, we go out under the stars
it's winter, cold, and late.
She pulls me close and blows into my ear,
her warm sweet breath, and whispers
that she's waiting for the right man to come home with her
and release the red seed from her body into this world,
then again and again.