Trees

 

I think that I shall never see

A poem [as] lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is presst

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, 1915  

Poetry Foundation: Joyce Kilmer