JOYCE KILLMER

I

Think

That I shall

Never see a poem,

as 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 its

Leafy arms to pray.  A tree that may in

Summer wear, a nest of robin 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.

JOYCE KILLMER