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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.

Kirsty Jones

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