Where the Old Sycamore Grew

“to hold, as ‘twere, the mirror up to nature” William Shakespeare, Hamlet, 1601 +++++ The house seemed smaller, seen with older eyes... The street seemed narrower, the trees taller.. Where once were open fields across the road New construction had bloomed The small fruit orchard had disappeared But somehow we knew it would still be there.... Strangely different, ...yet the same There was an unfamiliar small red tricycle On the flagstone path that we laid... In front of this little house that lies Beyond the curve, where the old sycamore grew... Suddenly, thirty years faded into that autumn day And quickly had become a springtime of our lives..... ...of first Christmas trees,..of first anniversaries... ...a place where I cried night after night when mother died... ...and spent long, starry nights holding newborn babes.... Yes....it is all still there, in the little yellow house Funny, but I'm glad they kept the yellow... It has the same white shutters... The little yellow house, with a flagstone pathway that we laid That sits beyond the curve, where the old sycamore grew... ++++++ 4/20/11 Submitted for Constance La'France's Contest "The Tree" By Carrie Richards