The Sycamore Tree


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


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


Sycamore’s gift to


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