Branch

The wind blows, rustling the leaves,
A reminder that life is still held within,
Even if the weight is suffocating.

The branch groans, trying to stretch,
Feeling the pain of the pruning,
From days now placed in the past.

The end bows back towards the soil,
Heavy beneath the produce it carries,
Sitting patiently, but questioning, its worth.

Then, the darkness shifts, as the outline
of the mountain is revealed. A silhouette
glowing under the first idea of a new day.

The clouds drift from black and grey
to soft pink, and rich purple, showing
the change only the Son can give.

Under the light, the Gardener pads
across the grass, dew squishing beneath
Each step, approaching the branch.

A light touch fingers the leaves,
Kind eyes admire the fruits, gently
Removing each one, adding them to

His basket, subtracting the weight,
Relieving the grief. A reward for staying
Faithful. A reminder that empty branches

Are thrown to the fire, but fruit bearers
are pruned, tested, so they can carry more.
So they can work for, and in tune, with the Gardener.