Sonnet

Every branch in me that bears no fruit.
He cuts away.
He discards it if there is no fruit.
But all our worries He thus does lay.

My old apple tree sprouts in summer.
Too seldom do I prune it.
Few are its fruit before winter.
And they are not by sweetness lit.

But there is the great vine at Hampton Court.
Over 250 years old.
Time is in its passing wrought.
Its story many times told.

We must prune and give.
And not keep if we are to live.

Haiku

Prune the tree often
If it is to give some fruit
By cutting we give