Trees

This famous old poem hung in my grandmother’s house, painted on a piece of glass with a foil background. I always loved it, especially the last line where the poet jumps out and calls herself the fool. Classic move. I’m a sucker for it.

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

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