TREES
I think that I shall never' see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree ^whose hungry mouth is preist ’
Against the earth’s sweet flowing br
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.