Fruit Of The Spirit Poem by Jean Mallette

Though broken 'neath the weight of grief,
The heart beats on in sorrow.
It seeks to meet some soon relief
But finds none in the morrow.

The heart is crushed; it's bruised to tears
And cannot sense the reason
For life that would but disappear
Before it's own due season.

The child who grew next to my heart,
Transfused such love and laughter;
But soon his young life would depart
Ascending the Hereafter.

Oh, Heart, produce your fruit of grief-
Much sweeter than the vine.
For though you're trampled 'neath the Thief,
You're left to pen these lines.

You must beat on against the foe
For Death must be defeated.
Allow your tears of grief to flow
Until with Christ we're seated.