TREES by Joyce Kilmer

I think that I shall never see a poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed 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.