On a mountainside in southern Spain
tall trees in full greenage
climbed silently in single file.
Marching with military sturdiness
like a long forgotten battalion of
Republican soldiers,
still ceaselessly advancing
towards General Franco.

Branches swaying
in the Moorish wind
appeared as slung rifles
and onwards they marched,
endlessly towards a distant
forgotten battle,
while the bitter scent of
oranges rises from the west,
flanking the battalion
triumphantly.