Poetry

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© Bob Barra, 4-21-06

So much fruit, so small a spirit;
So great a God, so small a heart;
This is the case; the truth I am near it;
Thank Him it’s He who will impart;

Ask me which fruit is my struggle;
There’s no fruit that I’ve fully ingested;
So it’s His mercy with which I snuggle,
Since it’s Him that has me bested;

Charity, joy, peace or patience;
All sweet fruits that can bless;
Kindness, goodness, with temperance,
Faithfulness, gentleness, with His rest;
Divine cornucopia of His grace;
A garden with which to bless God;
We can emulate His loving face;
This garden of Christ whom we laud;

Even one fruit is greater than me;
It is the Lord we talk about;
Swallowing it’s like drinking the sea;
That’s why I need His gracious clout;

I see myself bearing this blessing,
Rejoicing in Him granting me so;
Two steps backward, I’m back to confessing,
Wondering where did it all go;

But I know I’ve changed from the re-start;
I don’t act like I once did;
In one way, the fruit’s in my heart
In another, it seems they’ve fled;

So with which do I struggle,
I’ll say, “It’s with them all;”
Behold, my silly fruit juggle;
My own little part, in the Call…




“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control. Against such there is no law.”—Galatians 5:23-34

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