By The Fruit

Freedom is no easy task-

not for the enslaved. not for the free.

To be set free is a thing done once,

but the free are deprived on account of me.

There once was a beautiful tree-

heavy with fruit, and pleasing to the eye.

It's taste no man ought e'er have known

But I thought I might have a try...

Now winter comes cold ev'ry year

to kill the trees with scornful breath.

But ev'ry spring, a miracle:

Dead trees sprout buds, like Aaron's staff.

And so the dead are raised again-

new seasons come and set us free.

But you, for death, have me to thank.

It's root was Adam, it's shoot is me.