Look at that fig tree, bittery, bittery.
Branching over to the evergreen, evergreen.
What is meant for me?
What is meant for thee?
Wanting everything that comes my way!
But I just don’t have enough hands to carry all these things!
Materials, Materials I long for stuff to keep me happy.
But nothing will ever taste as good as the fruit off that fig tree.
Bittery, ever so bittery!
Maybe it was all just a fable.
Or like riddles about cat’s and cradles.
Father fruit was also so biter to me.
Rotting flesh, pungent taste sours and reflects my feelings.
Wrinkle in time turns fresh vibrant fruit into dust.
One by one we all fall!
Falling like that once fresh fruit that plopped on the ground.
Turning dark and deathly from offence.
Unresolved hate that constantly puts us on the defense.
Till all the stress bursts like a valve from our hearts.
Lying in a pool of blood all alone.
Looking up once again at that fig tree.
Realizing I’m really looking at me.
If only I wasn’t so bitter over what was done to me!
