Tuesday, May 7, 2019


Joyce Kilmer

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.


Susan said...

A classic, and for good reason. Thanks, Joe.

Anonymous said...

Yes, a lovely poem, but -absolute shock - he's got clothes on, Roderick