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Wolf's Poetry

sycamore







A dream forms in a sycamore tree
A billion stars are winking at me
The wind doesn't really care
Whether or not I'm sitting there
It goes around
And carries the sound
Of a whispered apology
That bounces off my knee
And falls to the grass
Right beside my
foot.





~~Erin Metcalf~~
© 1993
About This Poem

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