Always have they been, and will they be, beauty and peace.

Too populous yet individual for any man alone

To see, and know; but still I have pleasure

To think of knowing thee.

Crowned in fall with leaves of gold, You gleam

With grace as your branches fold.

In Spring your hollows bid farewell,

To bears and fawns who within you dwelled. In Summer,

One beholds your might, above the forest

With skin so white. Winter comes

And still you hold dominion, no sight is kinder

To any true Virginian.

A crooked and hollow trunk tells me you remember.

Chestnuts gone, the Ash will follow,

You once housed the Swifts and Swallows.

I see your branches,

Always reaching,

You must still miss them,

And all their teachings.

I feel your pain, great Sycamore, I miss them too–

But it is you that I adore.