Trees

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 prest

Against the sweet earth's 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.

This is one of my all time favorite poems!  This winter "Upon whose bosom snow has lain" could continue with and lain and lain and lain and lain…Even though it snowed again this morning, it was just a light dusting and mud has come so it is not so cold.