the Good shepherd

THE
VINEYARD

Disease has crept
Along the branch
Rotting from within

A pestilence
And blackened stench
Mold that smells like sin

And in a crook
On branch near Vine
There are some plants who sit

Preferring Vine
Accepting branch
Their leaves and stems are split

But years ago
A faithful farmer
Grafted growths to Vine

Broke from branches
Twisted cracked
"These shoots I know are mine."

And to this day
Forever more
To Vine these stalks adhere

Branching churches
Priest and schools --
Glistening grapes appear!