What kind of planting am I?
A branch off the'ol Vine?
An oak, an olive...wheat?
Or some windborne fungus
that makes wheat rise?
Am I none of these?
All of these?
"Yes, all," He said, "and
"As rife as nature you were, random
And wild, striving for a place in the sun.
When I finally found you, you were all
And spindly, brittle as kindling
And good for little else, yet
Loved, cherished. Chosen.
"So, I gathered you in My arms
And I bought you on the spot (remember?)
--not with sap--but with blood."
Then, Holy One--O, Tender of mankind--Tend
Stake me in Truth. Cultivate me in Your
Prune me to the pith!
I bow my heart
To Your covenant shears
And the torrent of Your Living Water.