Poems on the Seven Species

I never saw a field of wheat -
"Yet know I how it looks" -
Nor had I known a single sheaf -
Except I found it in a book.

Wheat - it said - before it's made
The staff of life -
Must first be broken, crushed and ground -
Like the soul - I thought -
Processed in the mill of life -
Becomes whole and choice and sound.




The barley seed breaks apart
In the dark earth - emerging re-born -
Not unlike the wheat stalk -
Though drab of mien and forlorn.

How can so poor a grain
Count among the seven kinds?
One may well ask the reason why -
But aside from what our wisdom finds,
There may be more to barley than meets the eye.




Gather your clustered grapes
From the autumn vine -
If one falls - but no more than two -
Retrieve them not -
And in the seventh year,
Harvest not your store.

Thus says the Lawgiver in His law Divine -
Praise His compassion for Rich and Poor.




Rejoice in the spreading fig tree -
Its wide leaves fan the sky
And shade the earth below -
Its purple fruit ripens slow.

Anticipate its first-ripe fig -
The one in days gone by
Bound with reed-grass and brought -
With song and flute and drum -
Up to the altar in Jerusalum.




Precious pomegranate -
Red and rotund -
Your seeds run life-giving liquid -
Their numbered hundreds reason defies.

You grow a small apple in size
To that of a globe -
Of all the fruits, you alone
Adorn the hem of the High Priest's robe.




The small olive tree
Holds its own in winter.
Winds toss leafy branches -
Like unloosed tresses to and fro -
Its upturned leaves show silver.

Trees blossom -
The dove sings -
Olives go to presses -
And then the oil comes
That once anointed the heads of kings.




The leaves of the palm tree wave -
Like glistening banners in the sky -
Its fruit grows in a perch windy and sunny.

Praise the beautiful palm
And its sweet fruit on high -
Praise the land of milk and honey.