God does not waste our grief, you see,
nor bitter pain and misery,
but instead calls forth a fruit of sorts-
a painful pruning that contorts
laying waste to all I once thought mine.
But in the fullness of His time,
you will find-always-some reason, some rhyme.
What once was a contorted, barren frame
will be a fertile vine that knows well rain
and storm in seasons due,
but also joy.each day renewed
by a purpose divine
within the pain.
A golden branch will come
with purest fruit
that could only be born
of grief's pursuit.