Sycamore Poems - Poems about Sycamore

My maintenance man's name is Scott and boy that man can do a lot.. Always cutting the yards and raking up leaves, a constant need with Sycamore trees.. In snow and ice out there he'll be, clearing sidewalks and streets of this community. Scott's always there when neighbor's call, to paint their buildings or a hot water heater install. For thirty years he's...

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Then: The sun rises. My world is small. Everything has yet to happen. One day, I'll go to school and learn important things - Like my brothers - I wish I was a year older. I wonder, "who am I?" The whole wide world teaches me. There's inside, with mom, and my big brothers - And the record player. The magic transpires...

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our rounded sycamore symmetrically sound waiting to be drawn photographed by many the perfect model for a family tree in my grandma's yard I feel reverence and appreciation rounded sycamore...

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Under the sycamore tree the Autumn skies I'm walking midst the breeze On surface grounds ducks and geese make loud noise like New York traffic crowd Ecological systems are just being so led down Pick ng up whatever it is on the ground It 's nature prodigal autumn not death, it's just resting -sleeping Trees all over are now golden...

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I never thought I would ever see A sycamore as lovely as poetry. Her crown is full of squirrels’ nests And in her hair the swallows' rest; Skyward she looks toward the sun And waves her arms at everyone, Her branches in winter barren be And still, her beauty appeals to me; I suppose they’d never cut her down Our whole neighborhood would frown, Stately...

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Sycamores standing bold and naked Leafless limbs facing the chilly breeze Without broad leaves appear wasted, Sycamores standing bold and naked As stanchions are almost over-rated, Still the most imposing of all the trees Sycamores standing bold and naked Leafless limbs facing the chilly breeze. Written November 15, 2022...

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Last leaves have fallen from the sycamore tree Leaving her limbs unclad, so naked and bare While they wait for their new coats of cottony White snow, and the squirrels, here and there, Skitter about searching for the nuts they stored All summer long for wintry days they anticipated Most of them have found carefully stashed hordes Since the leaves are raked...

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A huge, magnificent sycamore stands Like a sentry overlooking my yard As towering proof that nature demands A posture unknown to human regard It is my home’s elegant bodyguard. I fear a tornado’s fierce straight-line wind Will bring this tree to an undesired end, Toss it like a toothpick over the fence Snapping it off because it does not bend Trimming it back certainly...

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I was born to breathe free, outdoors count my rings and you will know how old I am I come from a family of sycamores I own a massive trunk when eagles soar they perch upon my branch they do yes mam although my roots run deep inside the floor I am durable...

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A burning desire within my soul, a rippling affect was taking hold And with each mile, down the winding road, a sycamore, birch, or elm would grow. And then behold the greatest stage, upon this porch, aligned in shade Not laughing eyes nor beaming torch But a tear would drop with each recourse. Then words like melodies would resonate, and each one shared...

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big bold leaves falling sycamore is shedding fast paper white trunk stark written October 6, 2021...

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I am one of the oldest trees around. My roots grow aggressively and deep in the ground. I am a sycamore, most regal and proud. My branches so high I can touch a cloud. I'm usually found near wetlands and streams. My thirst is unquenchable, or so it may seem. I've weathered many seasons, endured the test of time, but recently my...

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In my front yard lives a sycamore tree that of late seems to have it in for me. A pristine giant with a white colored bark that's constantly shedding and falling apart. I've always admired this glorious tree until it began hurling branches at me. It's tree parts keep dropping from one hundred feet. I'm...

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Absorbing sunset colors as I sat, I heard the soft mews of a mournful cat, Lost somewhere in the garden near the lane. For its forlorn owner I sought in vain. Suddenly there came the sounds of quail calls Though quail never feed here as evening falls. Were their cries clues to where the cat was now? I listened, careful, for the...

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Under the cozy multicolored quilt I was sitting just fine. In walked my mother with nightshirt of lime. She said choose a book from the story book elf. He had put them all high upon my tallest wall shelf. I was tickled to pieces, for her reading was great. Also it means I would be able to stay awake really...

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