Aeternal Longing (Harvest is at Hand) -4/19/05

While walking in the garden in the spring
And list’ning to the breeze for any sign,
I heard a soft decree of harshest thing:
“My son, eat not the grape-leaves from the vine.”

And so I sat a season in those lands
Until the smallest fruits began to show.
That voice again arrested eager hands:
“My son, eat not the fruits before they grow.”

To all my outcry He did then reply:
“Await the coolest, crispest grapes of all,
And then your harvest I will not deny,
And finest wine I’ll give you in the fall.

Just let Me tend My garden as I will
And when it ripens, you will drink your fill.”