"Plato's Olive Tree" a poem by Distant Mind

The still slow life is mine, my days are years.

Tied to the soil, I reach towards the sky, as men rush by,
so driven by their fears, and with
their fears intact pass on and die.
When I was young my fruits fed Plato's peers and
Roman legions blindly passed me by, the
Turks sat by my trunk and cleaned their spears then
Shelley came and held me in his eye.

I have grown old, though not as old as some,
who sit beneath my laden boughs for shade.

The hot dry Summer's still my first delight, and in the
Spring's new days the men will come, to
gather up the miracles
I've made from water, air and soil,
and good sunlight.

"Plato's Olive Tree"
by
Distant Mind

^{These .gifs were created for me by @coquiunlimited; many thanks}