A little group of sycamores
In the corner of a field
A little higher than the rest.
I half run to its shelter.
Then catch my breath within
Their silent height.
And feel the sudden spell of trees
And give my wordless thanks
For being briefly with this family,
For this knowing place of simple air and light.
Apr 20, 2025
Apr 20, 2025 at 1:55 AM UTC
A little group of sycamores
In the corner of a field
A little higher than the rest.
I half run to its shelter.
Then catch my breath within
Their silent height.
And feel the sudden spell of trees
And give my wordless thanks
For being briefly with this family,
For this knowing place of simple air and light.
Request permission to use this poem