Sycamore

Breathing in deeply

The fresh morning air

Watching the dew

Fall into his hair,

I rose to his side

Praising for a ride

Following the stride,

Along the broken path

Resting upon his back,

Cold among the breeze

Sat to rest beside a tree

Among the bark and leaves,

Looking down at me

The slight shake in his knees

Like the willow tree leaves,

I climbed back upon him

My grip started to soften

A leaf falling only every so often,

A “Bark!” from the dogs

“Meow!” from the cats

Watching me slowly

As we headed back,

A friend started to follow

Then another

Along came a foal

Silently by his mother,

Letting him go

Is hard to explain

But giving him ease

Was easy to see,

He told me not to cry

He told me not to sigh

As I looked into

His deep dark eyes,

The apples will fall

The branches will break

One thing is for sure

From his slumber

He shall never wake,

He still is here

Standing next to me

Leaning against

That Old Sycamore Tree.