WE AS THE VINE:

In fertile soil, plump, fruitful, juicy & sweet,

Succulent, suspended from life´s strong bough,

Safe beneath heaven´s warm ripening orb,

We as the vine, clinging in love, digging in our feet.

Drought arrives, bringing slow cruel dying,

Love like the grape, dries, wrinkles & is sorely scorched,

Shriveled, clinging desperately to hope,

Weeping tears of wine in futile crying.

Will rain-filled clouds burst & save the hour?

In time to ripen our entwining bond & fruitful trust?

To bring forth lasting maturity & glinting heights?

Or will love die & the wine turn sour?