In groves where fruits of green reside, With pits within, like treasures hide. With leaves so slender, smooth, and fair, Which tree is this? Can you declare?
Chorus: O olive tree, where heavens sleep, Cradled near the foamy deep. Your leaves hold tales of time’s great art, And echo fairy tale’s beating heart.
Verse: You rest where clouds and silence meet, At universe’s green retreat. Your dreams are oils in gentle motion — Brush of da Vinci, Botticelli’s ocean. Dryads hum on swinging vines, Cradled in Murano’s shine. With Milky Way in every limb, You sway in stardust, soft and dim.
Verse: Beneath the sun’s southern flame, You whisper low a poet’s name. Your roots drink myths from marble floors, Old lullabies from ancient shores. A crown for peace, for kings, for lore, A key once carved in olive door. You hold the hush of twilight’s glow, Where time forgets how fast it goes.
Chorus: O olive tree, where heavens sleep, Cradled near the foamy deep. Your leaves hold tales of time’s great art, And echo fairy tale’s beating heart.