Sycamore in autumn,
golden hue emerging from
a sea of green surrounding.
Your trunk, your limbs
stretching appropriately
and with ease—
the unequivocal ideal.
Earned beauty in the patchy bark
with its shades of green and gray
from the bitter and the sweet
sloughed off and scarred,
badged with life.
From under your shadow
the world drinks up, sucks in,
devours your perfection
where it unexpectedly comes;
the form, the function
curving with purpose; age
compounding strength
compounding wisdom.
Great piece! Love the rich detail and the feel of it. Beautiful write here.
ReplyDeleteThank you very much for reading. As always, I love getting your feedback :)
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