On the river’s edge

A Sycamore grows

As the water babbles

The dawn softly glows

Still a bit hazy

With sleep in her eyes

Sun parts the curtains

And watches fog rise

Up from the valley

Fog tiptoes away

Scattering the night

While bringing the day

Sun says to Sycamore

“Good morning, child,”

On the river’s edge

Sycamore smiles