The Olive Trees

We rise to watch the same sunrise

And sleep under the same moon.

We tell our loved ones sweet goodbyes

And pray that we will see them soon.

.

When fearful we both bow in prayer

And when it rains we both get wet.

We live and breathe in the same air

And we watch the same sunset.

.

But as a red moon rises and

Above the doves are pleading,

Something says we cannot be friends.

The olive trees are bleeding.

.

These hills and lands bled long ago

And were washed by cleansing blood.

When Peace returns, then all will know

How futile is our crimson flood.

.

And in that day blood no more

Shall pour upon these olive lands

With no more war from shore to shore,

But joyful tears between clasped hands.

–January 11,2009