Sycamore

I was asked by a friend to write about the first thing I look for when I come home. It could either be a poem or a short story. I decided on a poem.

Sycamore

In the gentle breath of a evening breeze

She beckons me home. Like a moth

To the flame, I have no choice but

To follow her course.  Her scent in the

evening stirs my need

to remembered hours  spent

within her loving shadows

Though my path may falter,

detours abound, she has

Stood as my lighthouse in dangerous waters.

I see her above all others, standing tall

Another gust, green leaves sway

the sycamore  waves

my welcome home

Copyright © 2013 Glynis Rankin

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