The olive tree, in Italy
Sitting along side of the road
Short and squat, and evergreen
And bearing a heavy load.

The olives picked by toughened hands
Hanging from the boughs and tree
Harvesting in winter months
Shaking them all off, to be free.

The mighty olive branch
Is a sign of peace and love
And a token gift of goodwill
Noah’s Ark, and his humble dove.

Dating back to Roman times
The olive tree so old
Sun ripened out on the fields
Rich Italian, morsels of gold.

Nothing sings more of Italian food
With this sweet or salty taste
So bitter, and so pungent
Ground into a darkened paste.

The olive is an ancient fruit
Worthy of all its lore
Healthy benefits and tasty bites
We all have come to adore

When passing by this hearty tree
Sitting softly to the east
Give a knowing and a loving smile
A true Italians’ feast!