There is no longer a Sycamore tree
With its variegated, sap green leaves
Bringing a fluttering in the Sringtime
A steady, shady, dream filled breeze.

Our road was accustomed to rows of pairs
To keep each company year on new year
One Winter frost was bitter, time had come
For a friendship to be severed, lost and gone.

A tree outside a house is a very special joy
Waking each morning to the sound of birds
Now only in my photographs can I recall
The splendour of this object standing straight
And tall.

Love Mary x