(image – bridgepix )
(image – poseiden flickr)
Trees
I think 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 live with rain.
Poem’s are made by folks like me,
But only God can make a tree.
Joyce Kilmer (1886-1918)
