The Sycamore

it rises high above a stream
near the edge of woods and field
there it stands through wind and rain
through heat and snow and winter chill

from just a seed this tower grew
though many threats have come its way
from browsing deer to insect hordes
the tree endured beyond our days

and throughout life its gifts abound
from summer shade to winter den
its leaves refresh the air we breath
its branches reach to usher in

by spring the songbirds flit about
and flickers drum its hollow wood
in fall the nuthatch circles round
as raptors scout the fields below

in winter's dark the white wood gleams
and seed filled globes adorn its crown
through ice and snow the seeds await
their chance for glory in the sun

Midwest Summer

it comes in waves
by early june
the heavy air
oppressive noon

thunder rolls
a short reprieve
but sun returns
the rain now steam

mowers hum
but birds retreat
the songs of spring
suppressed by heat

as summer wanes
the greens now brown
gold and purples
cloak the ground

when fiddlers sing
and cicadas call
we yearn to feel
the tide of fall