Ghosts of sycamores, all in a row
blocking my view of the sky
In daytime you glow in blue mixed with green 
All through night you lurk silent and grey

The breeze is your lover on sun washed days 
mixing your seeds, as sure as desire
How do you manage such lusty feats
With basking and growth as your only calling?

Hawks and crows stage a battle for space
in your mountains of leafy green richness and light
Rocks at your feet hold you safe against floods 
in a world where water rules

Fall, you will. A certain ending
Each of your fathers have fallen or burned
Sure as your leaves are traded each winter,
your seeds will find homes and your trunk will surrender

Meanwhile, such service your presence brings 
A well of warmth in damp valley evenings 
Home to the spirits of hundreds of creatures
Never still, always breathing

- JW Marsh