Joyce Kilmer. 1886–1918 |
Trees |
I THINK that I shall never see | |
A poem lovely as a tree. | |
A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed | |
Against the sweet earth's flowing breast; | |
A tree that looks at God all day, | |
And lifts her leafy arms to pray; | |
A tree that may in summer wear | |
A nest of robins in her hair; | |
Upon whose bosom snow has lain; | |
Who intimately lives with rain. | |
Poems are made by fools like me, | |
But only God can make a tree. |
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