She arrived running.
Her dress was as black as those winter nights without moon.
I think she was young but her face was nearly completely covered with a dark veil.
It was long ago and I am afraid my memory can’t recall all of it but I clearly remember the shouts of those men. They got her under my leaves and knocked her down throwing grave stones. She felt, she cried and her life was gone.
They said her guilt was love.
(The Olive Tree Tales)
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