A tree planted in running waters
longs to flower and bear fruit
in every season,
but though the waters run
and the sun bloom bright,
sometimes flowers wither on the stem,
fruits rot on the branch
for want of harvesting.

And the flowers that blossom one season
in another fall to petals on the stream
swept away to a who knows where:
sometimes to the spring, to the source; others
to the weeds or the river-bed.

A few, a very few,
bearing seed, take root.
These he calls “blessed,”
these, “espoused.”


This is day 28 of LABIA MUNDA, a series of forty poems during the forty days of Lent. 

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