The Tiger and the Olive Trees

The tiger grabbed the olive branch
And bruised across the ground. Its leaves were hanging down. Now the olive trees don't grow near tigers keen.  

They spread their seeds with the wind.
They don't remember the reason only the feeling of being pushed against the dust. 

Forgiveness has settled from a distance. But the memory remains inside the olive's veins. 

Far from the tiger does the olive tree grow. 
Far from the road. 
Far away it plants its seeds and makes its home. 

Only one time did the tiger burn the branches of the trees. And still and still its memory is implanted within me