Joyce Kilmer. 1886–1918 119. Trees

 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,          5 

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.   10    

Poems are made by fools like me,  
But only God can make a tree.