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 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 bosoms now has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
I love this tree! It has been around a long, long time. I remember climbing it as a child (what child could resist such an easy climb) and then climbing it again while on my honeymoon. On sorting out old family photos I see my father did the same!
The tree is old and weighed down but still it is here and in leaf, maybe not for much longer but in these worrying times I will take strength from it still being here despite it's weary appearance.
