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THE POEM

The Last Green God by Barbara Carle
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An old man disguised as a rugged king

bizarre to the point of appearing dead

so racked, weather beaten, and contorted

hunchbacked, wizened, wrinkled and distorted

uneven, battle-scarred, seasoned and tough

designed by time’s release of swirls and grooves

disjointed, crinkled, deeply furrowed, rough

askew with thorough dissonant strength

inclined to stay beyond the human reign

he still raises his majestic silver mane

reflects on his contemplative wood pillar

sustains the glowing green of olive fruit

solicits the sunlight to boast his truth.

(Translation by the author)

Ostuni. Age-old olive tree. Photo courtesy of Ciao Trekking

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