Here is a poem by Joyce Kilmer, (1886 - 1918), about a tree. My mother used to recite it to us, as children. It always intrigued me that she knew it by heart.
She may have been ironing clothes or rolling out crust for an apple pie while reciting the poem. It never ceased to amaze.
Trees
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.
(Just for the record, that's about it for trees on this blog for awhile. Enough is enough.)
DO YOU HAVE A FAVORITE POEM?
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