The Sad Vine

  I see a vine, strong, green and coiled,

Creeping around tight never to fall,

Holding tiny bunches of flowers

The long vine, on top of the wall,

But still short for all.

Years passed, trees fell

She stood strong forever well

Who never had a word of praise to tell

She still loved them that’s for sure

Even as she felt insecure.

With sadness she bloomed the smallest flowers

Never having the brightest colors on them

Crying everyday wishing to bear her fruits

She sings a song to see them again.

Broken off, all she holds good to be praised, 

With a bunch of fruits in their hands,

Baskets filled tables set and laid

Royal’s eating with their heads raised

Some under the feet are crushed and made,

Prepared for an offering as the blood of Christ,

The sad vine finally her worth realized.