Poetry collection

The Sycamore seed

                      The Sycamore seed

Spiralling,

                   twirling

                                     down,

                                         flying

                    with

            the breeze,

heart free

        yet reaching

          for

                       the dark

            moist loam,

to burrow,

become

 solid

       and dream

                                 of that

                                          brief ecstasy

                                spiralling

                     down.