The wait is long, and long and low
The sighs of wind through empty leaves.
What fruit might hang on branch and bough
Is missing, and it makes me grieve.
Then sighs the wind through empty leaves
A song of three years passing by:
“I’m missing that which made me grieve,
And longing for what makes me cry.”
A song! For three years passed me by,
And never fruit to eat. A song
Of longing, sung to make me cry,
And one more year to right the wrong.
I never… fruit. To eat the song
Is yet to swallow hope and grace
For one more year. To right the wrong
Is up to You, to turn Your face.
See, the swallow! Hope and grace,
A weight so lifted, long and low:
Now up to You, lift to Your face
The fruit that hangs on branch and bough.
Then he told this parable: “A man had a fig tree growing in his vineyard, and he went to look for fruit on it but did not find any. So he said to the man who took care of the vineyard, ‘For three years now I’ve been coming to look for fruit on this fig tree and haven’t found any. Cut it down! Why should it use up the soil?’ “‘Sir,’ the man replied, ‘leave it alone for one more year, and I’ll dig around it and fertilize it. If it bears fruit next year, fine! If not, then cut it down.’” – Luke 13:6-9
(Liturgical poetry during ordinary time after Pentecost is inspired by the parables of Luke.)