You shall further instruct the Israelites to bring you clear oil of beaten olives for lighting, for kindling lamps regularly.Aaron and his sons shall set them up in the Tent of Meeting, outside the curtain which is over [the Ark of] the Pact, [to burn] from evening to morning before יהוה. It shall be a due from the Israelites for all time, throughout the ages. – Ex. 27:20-21
An old olive tree stands in a grove, verdant, stately and strong.
She remembers life as a sapling—
Giants all around her—
But the moon has played hide and seek many times
And the children of the soil—
The sons of Adam and the daughters of Eve—
They come and go, come and go
Frolicking children turned maidens and lads
Pairing up, the maidens in white
Soon come with their own little ones
Then the time of white hair
The feathered tribes of the air
Come to rest on her branches
Chat chat chattering chirping speech
Her roots feel the creeping things
Busy always busy with their earthy exploits
And she drinks the soft cool rain
Grateful to the One who brings it in its season
And is thankful for the sun
Who bathes her silver leaves in gold
She stores up keepsake sunbeams
Hidden in her tender fruits—
Food for the Gardener folk
Adam’s daughters and sons of Eve
Who come to gather her yield
Leaving some for the rootless and the beasts of the field
The Gardeners save the first best oil
For the kohen to light the lamp
At night she dreams to the owl’s lullaby
Or gazes on the sapphire sky
Where the stars tell tales of days of old
And she looks with pride on the kohen’s stars
Fed by her stored-up rays of sun
And offers thanks for her life to the One
