An Oil as Pure as Virgin Snow

Always when I land in Spain
I feel like I am living life again
Sure that in a previous incarnation
Iberia was my ancient home nation

Sitting in the high speed train
Streaking across the rain soaked plain
Olives as far as the eye can see
On red earth a silver filigree

My heart in love with olive oil
My head thinking of the daily toil
My heart soon begins to cry
Seeing the result of the summer dry

Rows of olive trees leafless and dead
The growers’ hope of income shed
Another year of lost toil and hope
I often wonder how they cope

In the cities consumers buy the oil
Heedless of the farmer’s love and toil
Concerned only with package and price
Changing to a cheaper oil in a trice

Little do the users know
That a death painful and slow
Is their remit to those that grow
An oil as pure as virgin snow

So more determined I will be
To promote the essence of the olive tree
And wherever I travel and want to go
Will put the best extra virgin olive oil on show