The Fig Tree

Opening the window of my heart, a glorious site greeted me.
Ha, a fig tree.
Beautiful to behold.
The hue of its leaves made me gaze at it in admiration,
Like a thirsty man near a desert stream.
The hope of fulfillment filled my soul.
I ran outdoors in anticipitation, in joy, eager to delight in its succor.
Reaching it, I stopped, amazed!
Frantically I searched, for something, for what?
To satisfy my thirsty soul.
But, no fruit!

In dissappointment, in acute distress, I gazed at it in wonder
My sould trembled within me
In my mind I wondered,
Oh fig tree, why did the Creator make you?
Was it not to give succor.
He expected you to be a blesssing
But, no fruit!

Then in the window of my mind I see another scene
The advocate of the fig tree
Is in the Supreme Court of the Creator
Vociferously agruing for her
"Oh, Supreme Judge,
You cannot be so unjust and condemn her
Her lush leaves give her a beautiful look
Now that is what everyone wants
And she is popular
And glamourous
Nobody looks for fruit the way you do
So why curse her?"

Then the Creator looks gravely at the advocate
And says,
"You are right,
She has all the virtues that you say
But that is because she is using up my manure
And the succor from my ground
That she has all the virtues you so elequently state
But I woul d rather have an ugly tree in her space
That has fruit!"

What else can be your fate,
But to be cursed
To wither.
The world will see and wonder
They will shake their head and mourn
At your fall.