Trees
By Joyce Kilmer
1886-1918
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
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.
This is the first poem I've ever memorized, (beside a few of my own). If I try to read it aloud (and I invite you to), the images painted by the words are so beautiful I can't get through it without getting choked up.
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