To fit your religion,
theology or perception
is not the reason that I am here;
to slip into a man made mould,
not my purpose to appear.
planted in rich, dark soil,
eagerly waited on Creators hands
the ground to toil.
With tender hands the ground was worked.
With patience and care roots were fed,
branches trimmed, with stakes upheld.
Vigilant guard over sapling was kept,
encouraging growth to sprout.
Year by year the adding of a new ring celebrated,
season by season change and upward growth witnessed.
Everybody waited, till the brake of this season,
fruit to bear the reason.
Fruit tree blossoming,
tree covered in abundant plume.
Branches heavy laden
with colourful fruit,
announces the reason for being here.
Copyright Micelle Coetsee 2014