I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prestAgainst 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 wearA 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.
“Trees” by Albert Joyce Kilmer 1886–1918
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