The Drama of the Carob Tree

A howling gale ends this Friday so sad,

Breaking off branches in a tempest gone mad;

Nature entire is now wildly shaken

With angry cries from the gods of creation.

All forces unleashed, the survivors resist,

All they can do if they hope to persist.

Each season gives form to its part of the year,

Now we see only fury, a world that is drear.

A great tree uprooted sends up its last sigh,

A tree once so proud that held branches up high.

The carob which stood in its beauty and grace

Now lies on the ground like a corpse on its face.

This carob so mighty whose fruit did abound

With generous seeds in which sweetness was found.

Its memory lingers wherever I go

First tree ever planted on the mountain I know,

By hands that were strong and a will that was clear,

The Creator is glad when man makes the land bear.

Full tenfold the carob rewarded my toil,

Gen’rous to me when I turned over the soil.

Now nature has torn you from where you once grew

But when she is calm I know well what to do;

Tomorrow I plant a new tree that I’ll love

And from this same land it will stretch up above.

Demeter the goddess of harvest will see

The strength in your heart and will generous be.

Joseph Matar
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Translated from French: K. J. Mortimer