Strange trees on the horizon.
a flat top bundle of green at their crown,
more than anything, they signal
that you are in a foreign land,
a constant part of the landscape,
nothing like home. Nothing.
And yet, a week or two in,
you become comfortable with each other,
so much so that you will miss them
when you return home.
About this poem
Strange how we get used to almost anything.
The picture was taken in Rome.