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
—Gertrude Nason Carver