Sycamore leaves dance

In only the lightest breeze

They never turn askance

Like leaves on other trees

Sycamore leaves flair

Within their perfect ballet

In just the lightest air

Blowing up the valley

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https://www.eveningexpress.co.uk/news/scotland/first-world-war-poets-honoured-with-violins-crafted-from-military-hospital-tree/

The Song Of Trees

They sat here,

back in nineteen seventeen,

beneath my caring arms.

I kept the August sun

from their fevered brows

as piece by piece

they pulled themselves

together.

Their stories made me weep

rainfall

from sy...

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