Tuesday, May 10, 2011

TREES

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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