TREES
I think that I shall never see
a poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
against the earth's sweet 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.
- Joyce Kilmer