My Father is the vinedresser and I am the vine:
Every branch that is unfruitful He prunes,
And every fruitbearing branch He cleans
So that it will bear more fruit; remain in Me and bear fruit.
Oh, Keeper of the Vine,
my branch has fallen,
I wither in dust and grime.
Lift this wayward shoot of mine
to reach for the sun,
bound to the rooted Vine.
Oh, patient Vinedresser,
strip away showy leaves,
leaving me bare of pretenses.
Oh, Dresser of vines,
cleaned of senseless ventures,
unite me to your lifegiving Vine.
Keeper of the Vine,
You prune every branch
to bear even more for the wine.
Harvestor of the Vineyard,
come gather our grapes,
lives blended, wine offered.
first published in Poets of The Vineyard
also published in Storyteller Magazine
also published in PICTURE HEALING Chapbook
©2002 Bonnie Manion