Sycamore Poem

This poem makes me smile remembering outside play times around the sycamore tree, my teenage way of thinking and high school creative writing class with Mrs. Hicks. The assignment for this poem must have required extensive use of personification. Please keep in mind, I was 17 when I wrote this. (Imagine sheepish smile on my face.)

Tree

That strong, friendly sycamore tree,

With branches reaching skyward —

Guarding our home by night and day.

Nuts filling the air with a fresh scent,

Autumn leaves carpeting the lawn in

         A golden jubilee.

Climbing on the the tree’s lap as a little girl,

Sharing with it my childish wisdom,

The tree listened well — and didn’t laugh.

At times when tears were near,

         The tree wiped them away —

And held his arms out to swing from.

That tree’s treasures are

         Its safe silence and astounding smile.

My sycamore tree; remembrance piece —

Of childhood days when life was terribly simple,

                  Yet challenging,

                  To a child.



©Helene Bergren. All Rights Reserved.