You have fruit growing out of your head, figs in your heart, apples in your hand.
You are abundant like I've never known, joyfully rooted in a Strongman's land.
You are like shade of green leaf and rubber, your sight is a refreshing scene.
You are like lifeblood bursting forth, producing fruit that is rich and clean.
But I am like a branch in winter, barely holding deathly things.
I cannot bud or fruit or blossom a fraction of what your branches bring.
My heart is like an apple core, my arms are barren, shriveled trees.
I cannot move for I am frozen, unshaking in this winter breeze.
I wonder why some are given more sun and some more wind and rain,
For wherever shoots sprout, they are pregnant and full with a hope that they'll sprout again.
"Abide in Me, abide in Me, as I abide in you,"
These things you whisper longingly to my very favorite tune.
And I am hungry for your fruit, I never taste enough.
For I grow nothing on my own, not even this skin so worn and rough.