THE ORCHARD

Our grandson took about one hour to knock out this writing for a school project. The stated objective was to write a poem about a well known painting. This 17 year old grandson has a special gift. Although not intentional, his poem reminded me of what it is like to live apart from God's presence, separated from the vine. Please take a minute to read this brief writing.

The Orchard

           

A Poem About “Frostbitten” - by Noah Hogan

(painting by Andrew Wyeth)

Fruit is strange.
Almost alien, really—
Fruit is separated from its mother tree;
Its sustenance is stolen sans second thoughts.
Fruit sits on a windowsill
A cold, dead corpse, waiting to be consumed.

Wintry jaws take hold of fruit;
The vice of frost clamps slowly.
Fruit sits on the windowsill
Dying a terrible death.
Wishing, hoping
It was on the other side of the window.

Outside,
A bitter war surges on.
Death creeps calmly on many;
Sickly sticks contrast a stark sky.
Death is powerful, yet subtle—
A gentle hand that kisses with savagery.

We are fruit, in a way—
Slowly dying, always hoping
That we were not picked off of the tree of life so hastily.
We sit on a windowsill,
Waiting to be consumed by silence,
Wishing that we were on the other side of the window.