A Poem: The Vine

God is a God who waits
with all things new.

The vine soaks in the morning sun.
The sap stirs and runs.
We are here attached.
The one who was promised
has come, has not left.

It is we who feel a quickening,
to an ever giving love.
We feel the sun,
our blood, our skin sings
in the life in which we live,

That we are alone,
is not a truth that stands
to the light,
but dissolves as mist in sun,
is absorbed in running sap.

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
April 2020

‘They will ask you what you have produced.
Say to them,
except for love,
what else can a lover produce?’
~ Rumi

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