Isaiah 5

My beloved grew a vineyard in my name.
He planted it on a fair and fertile hill
for grapes rose-red, wine for our wedding day,
that we might feast and sing and drink our fill.

He told me that he built a wall around,
and worked it like he disciplined a child.
He told me that the seeds he chose were sound—
yet the grapes he pressed for wine were dry and wild.

Hear what I will do to my lover’s field:
I will break its wall and trample down its roots.
For I was promised sweet love, yet it yields
brier thorns and nettles, bitter fruit.

Gather the branches, build a bonfire. I must
kindle it, make the blossoms go up like dust.