TREES
By Joyce Kilmer (1886-1918)

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 bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by people like me,

But only God can make a tree.

(This was sent by a friend. Not only do I love wildflowers but trees too. We have lost so many to the drought. Sad to see such majestic oaks and others die from lack of water.) These shown are the huge oaks of the deep south---simply beautiful.