The Sycamore tree
My friend
Lives through season
After season
In my backyard
Her leaves drop slowly
This fall into winter season
And I feel her strength
Withstanding drought
But now leaves that
Remain
Are scarce dry yellowed
As they wait to drop
To the ground
I look up into the sculpture
Of her near naked branches
Branches stretched outward
Like arms
A vision for me
Of the Cristo Redentor
On the mountain top
In Rio
Of my beloved’s embrace
His wide open arms
My sanctuary
My refuge my vision of love
Loving
Sycamore’s gift to
Me
