Parable

You withered the fruitless tree

“Discordia!” The vinedresser sings

An untimely harvest, sweet patience my plea

My soil-bed unkempt, you can see

Roots buried deep in loose soil I cling 

You the withered the fruitless tree

With death in this moment from sin I am free 

Yet this drying, pulling, uprooting does sting 

An untimely harvest, sweet patience my plea

Command me now and I’ll fall to my knee 

Chrysanthemums, poetic lexicon, what can I bring? 

You withered the fruitless tree

I hear there is still a crown by the lee

Worn by a lamb and shepherd, a servant and king 

An untimely harvest, sweet patience my plea

Shadows lengthen, diffused light covers me 

Respirations deepen in this my awakening 

You withered the fruitless tree

An untimely harvest, sweet patience my plea

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