Trees



 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.



By Joyce Kilmer






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