Here's a sneak peak at the first Sycamore poem.
His tan farmer boy arms elevate him to the first branch
Of the old sycamore
And he bids me encouragingly to rise up, up to those limbs
Of the old sycamore
We sing our love songs, upwards our voices, rustle the leaves
Of the old sycamore
"You and Me" we would call out across the canopy, dreams
Of the old sycamore
