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Poetry

Beatitude/Mortmain

Robert Bagg

Bless the olive
our oldest
greenest fuel.
Crushed, savoured, lit
it nurtures, it
illuminates.

Sold, it's a living.

Bulldozed …
it's history.

But when
the dead hands
of the six million
sow Lebanon's
groves with
evisceration -

they hang
by the thousands
unharvested,

a whirlwind
yet to be reaped.



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