The Fox and the Olives
A fox crept through the silent olive grove,
the night soft as velvet, the moon silvery as oil.
He smelled the ripe olives, heavy on the branches,
and his nose twitched – sweet and bitter at the same time.
Slowly, quietly, as if he did not want to break the silence,
he tasted one olive, then another.
The fruit was bitter, but the leaves whispered:
‘Patience, little friend, patience – only ripeness brings sweetness.’
The fox lay down among the gnarled roots,
looked up at the starry sky and suddenly understood:
Not everything that tastes good is ready right away.
And not everything that is bitter should be avoided.
So he fell asleep, surrounded by the scent of olives,
dreaming of fruits that only time can give.
