Let us walk, and let us talk
Through groves and groves of olive trees--
Whose silver leaves, like silver strings
That tie so many presents closed.
Their whispers float in biblical pages
And set the rage of nations at peace
With one easy, slow, whispering breath.
The winding branches sing of shade
That made the hearts of warriors pound;
And oh, the sound, the sound of death
Became breath caught when they saw one branch.
So can we speak of silver branches
And leaves that glitter silver promises?
Can the beauty surrounding be our speech,
And our peace bound up in a leaf?