Up here with you, the sycamore throws
Across the window, a whispering scream
I shall miss the sycamore more
I suppose than anything
Else on this earth that is elden green
But I need to go through the door
Without fear, not caring much
What happens here when I'm away?
How green the screen is across the pane
Or who goes laughing alone the lanes
With my old lover of the summer day?
