To Bear Fruit No More

The flavor of a soul is determined

(25 lines)

I am confronted by one famished fig tree
With neither hie nor welcome.
Silent questions:
"What do you seek in the dust?
What would you have of the sea?"

I cannot answer;
I refuse to know.

"In this browning land
Of rugged life and ragged rule,
And water so scarce as to be holy,
Whosever, drawing a cup,
Would brave this desert to offer a sip
To the Man on his knees beneath his heavy load?"

The withered sentry waits
Patient as a tomb.
No arms to restrain me,
No sword to bar my way--
Still I cannot pass.

I fail his test
And I cannot pass.

I drop my cup of water on the ground
And rejoin the crowd in shame
To finish watching
The slow parade
Toward Calvary.