Wait – (Lent Poems 31)
the fig-tree does not bud
and
our vines are without grapes
and
our olives do not grow;
the leaves are bare and
the harvest is
the slowest yet.
But wait.
And stand
at your watches and
station yourselves.
Look to the ramparts.
Look to see,
And hear:
your heart will pound;
let your cracked lips quiver
at the sound:
behold, though it linger,
it will come; it will surely,
surely come.
Look to the fig-tree and
watch it bud;
look to the grape-vine and
watch it yield fruit;
look to the olive branch;
look to the blood-red sap of the trees;
look to the hills, the
empty hills,
for there you will see
what you never had hoped.
Though
the fig-tree waits yet to bud
and
the grape-vines are still barren and bare,
though
the olive crop fails and
the harvest is
the slowest, yet
look to the tree, look
to the fig-tree:
it will bud soon;
it will not delay…
The Consolations of Writing 