Branches Weighed Low

or Joyful Burdens

Oh, the joy
Of a fruitful burden;
Branches weighed low
By spheres of ripening colour;
Long green thorns
Dissuade plucking poachers,
Yet linger there
To prick fair farmers too—
That bloody citrus might dribble
And lend puckish pain
To sticky bursting sweetness
From orb-segments of orange tang
And blissful meekness.

Oh, the peace
Of a stooping orange tree,
Ready to give succour
To every silly duffer—
Gardener and pilgrim;
Queen and king;
Exile takes heart
And worries take wing.

Oh, relish the heavenly vine;
Reap till it's light and thin,
For it carried your heavy round burden
Until ripe on its thorny green limb.
Oh, may your joy now be blood-orange
And your peace a green hedge within.

Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, except it abide in the vine; no more can ye, except ye abide in me.

John 15:4 (KJV)

Joy is the serious business of Heaven.

- C S Lewis (Letters to Malcolm: Chiefly on Prayer)