What Was My Fault?

What Was My Fault?

One night, in a dream I woke,

Dwindling near Bethany I was;

There to the edge of the dusty road,

Lone standing, I saw, a tree's carcass.

A fig tree it was that I saw,

Shrieved, laconic, and dried;

Grief in his heart profound,

Denuded and barren, he cried.

A strange call to his place, I went,

To tell a tale yet untold;

"Pray tarry a while", said he,

From there wearily he called.,

It was one fine bright morn

When with many a disciple he came;

The Son of the Holy God he was,

Jesus, the Nazarene, his name.

He was hungry I guess,

For he, a while stopped by me;

Wandering his bloody eyes upon my branches,

To look for figs, on a fruitless tree.

No fruits there were on my branches,

For figs, it was not the season;

But he..... was angry and peeved,

And cursed me for that reason.

"May you never bear fruits again",

With a rage he muttered.

And I, that very sorry instant,

Became dry, sere, and withered.

WHAT WAS MY FAULT IN THAT?

WHAT WRONG DID I DO?

It was not the season for figs,

So bare, my branches too.

That tree with a mourning heart,

Made me think of God once more;

Holy, pure, and judge I thought he was,

But this way I never thought before.

What kind of thing was that,

To do to an innocent fig tree;

That it withered away instantly,

What God this Almighty be?

What kind of god was that?

What was there to inspire in his son?

Cursed a tree to death and decay,

Without any flagrant reason.

                                      G.K