"Trees" by Joyce Kilmer (1889-1918)

I think that 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 lives with rain.




Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.