An Old Olive Tree's Story
I'm from Croatia and when I was younger, beautiful queens and kings were sitting under my branches. They would take some of my fruits, so I was their shade and modest olive supply. And the years and centuries have fled, I'm still here. Now, I
am an old olive tree. But not the ordinary olive tree. Croats have transformed
me into a mail box; Love mail box. Lonely people write love letters.
They put their phone numbers, at the bottom. They hide letters
in my holes or in the branches. So, other people come to search those
letters. If the sender is the opposite sex, a founder calls him or her.
They arrange a date. So, I know, their love will be long-lasting as me... Dora
K., 4th A class
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I am an Olive Tree. Not just the normal Olive Tree. I`m very,
very old. I don't remember when I was born. But I remember something
about my past and I'll tell you, also, about my present time. 
