Sycamore - Poem by Peter Russell
The wretched little sycamore tree outside our house
Never thrived; but the lime-trees lining the rest of the road
We never liked that little tree,
Scrawny and twisted like a malformed knee
The limes dropped drowsy scents
On to the dusty pavements in summer,
But when I left
It was the scraggy bloomless tree,
Odourless, haunted me -
Brought back the thought of your voice,
Of your light summery touch, and your scent…
I have forgotten the sickly limes!
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