Gregori

Beneath the sun, where olives used to shine,

Gregori weeps in bark, his roots run deep—

A lover lost, now carved in oak and pine.

He sailed from Greece with dreams in bold design,

To plant where Puglia's hills could cradle sleep,

Beneath the sun, where olives used to shine.

His oil was gold, a taste near divine,

A velvet thread no tongue would dare to sweep—

A lover lost, now carved in oak and pine.

But Olive Knot took hold—a fatal sign.

His trees grew ill, their cries a muted peep,

Beneath the sun, where olives used to shine.

He loved Dona Maria, sweet as wine,

But she refused, and left his heart to keep

A lover lost, now carved in oak and pine.

He laid beside his trees, a last design,

And now he stands—half man, half tree, and all sleep—

Beneath the sun, where olives used to shine,

A lover lost, now carved in oak and pine.