The Vine

What's more beautiful than a vine,
Planted by a sea of running waters; it's divine.
It has no fear of seasons
For it is nutritiously seasoned.
Though a mighty wind may roar
Yet it's leaves bear no sore
Cause it's rooted in the word
It's double edged sword
It's fruit is sought by kings
From it's goodness they will sing.
If the righteous branch out from the vine,
Then they are of most men, divine.