December 18, 2012






by Anthony Cristiano




Pino, a brother’s name and evergreen


coniferous deeds we measure and preen;


one longevus tale of life’s unpitted soul


the bitterer cycles make no weather’s dole.


Your needle-shaped leaves spearhead and sing


the bustle of winds atop history’s shrill,


for you quench rocks’ thirst upon the hill


while others shiver and wither and wring.


And if resinous bark the colour of death


should summon up the ill-fated earth’s soil


you envy no fighter who does not recoil


— such defiance fills your nostrils of breath!


   May your crown overflow with the linfa in you,


   under your shade banished is ev’ry dark view.



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