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Kirsty Jones
Sycamore buds burst
tight twisted forms unfurling
in timeless rhythm
umbrella crowns – astounding
to think they held themselves so
small
spreading glorious now
to delight in the dancefloor crush
of another sultry summer
before curling
into themselves
to drift, decay
disintegrate
to soil
and root
and when the earth
warms itself once more
the sycamores
sway wildly
limbs outstretched
stronger
for all that came before.
