Olives on the sidewalk

Talent is like an olive tree
on a suburban street corner,
scattering its fruit on rocky ground.
Yes, there’s a risk of tripping
on dropped drupes rolling
across the sidewalk, yet still
passersby admire its gnarled
trunk and white blossoms
with golden hearts, abundant
foliage, the cool comfort
of its spreading shade,
and imagine all the feasts
these wonders may adorn.
They envisage gleaming jars
of preserved delights or oils
anointing the faces of saints.
Producing better in the poorest soil,
the plant grows in any terrain
surviving drought, but its fruit,
before curing with lye or brine
and the passage of time, remains
inedible, bitter flesh on a stone,
impenetrable, a pitfall,
an attractive nuisance
if left untended.

Inspired by a dVerse prompt.