International studio — 81.1925

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A sycamore tree is a gracious sweep A sycamore tree has leaves like waves—

Of new-moon silver and wide-webbed lace, They rustle their intricate sea-taught sighs,

Caught in the loom of high clear air Remembering distant shores once loved

Like the smile on a lovely face. And the warmth of forgotten skies.

With roots struck deep in earth's black heart
A sycamore is a memory—
Beauty's incredible paradox
Reaching Infinity.

—Gertrude Nason Carver

three ninety

august 1925
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