Sycamore Tree

Mr. Sycamore tree Mr. Sycamore tree with your saucer and salad plate big leaves, do you think of me?

Mr. Sycamore tree, do you ever think of anybody?

You stand tall and strong looking out and over us all, old sycamore tree!

Your leaves amaze me … love them in the autumn when they turn color like a chestnut brown mare.
Leaves that feel like leather of an old saddlebag… tossing and flying up down and about …
the other leaves follow along in the wind!
Your leaves are biggest and strong and sassy, they flip and flirt with us that walk and jog and pass by your avenue.

Sycamore you’re the king on this street and you’ve been here since birth.
Those grand palms and pines are tall, maybe they did not begin along this part of our earth: though they share some glory.

Sycamore Tree, oh Mr. Sycamore when you look around from high above and see the birds and beasts and us who love your grandness… can you give us a thought, now and then?

Old tree can you sway and even nod … just once at me?