GRAPE

grape

 

Why should someone take such care

In changing sad old me

You’d think He had enough on His plate

Without the strain I be

For it has not been easy

His work has been cut out

It’s been a lot like roping a steer

Who loves to scream and shout

But maybe He is winning

I’m coming round, at last

By heeding things He tells me

My stubbornness outclassed

You have to reach a plateau

From which you can’t escape

Before you finally give in

My vine has grown a grape.

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