Bud Petal blogs here, and is also on facebook, twitter, vimeo, and instagram.

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The Trees They Do Grow High

"The olives may now be picked
They lay waiting by the hill"
Many a time I've said so to my child
She's young but she's growing daily

Father, dear father, do you not know what you ask?
If the settler on the hill sees my shadow cast
Many an hour he will knock me all about
He remains and he grows unruly

Daughter, dear daughter, I know to where it is you're sent
The olives must be picked, our livelihood sustained
Many a time they came onto our land
They remain with no will of sharing

Father, dear father, if you see fit
Hebron this is not, nor is it a mountain of beasts
I'll go to the checkpoint with my head held high
I'm young but I'm growing daily

One day I was looking beyond the dividing wall
I spied the harvest with a hope for them all
Many a time my daughter was there at work
Oh, she's young but she's growing daily

At the age of thirteen, she was a married gal
At the age of fourteen, a mother of a child
At the age of sixteen, her grave it was dug
Now I watch over her child as he's growing

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