I Think That I Shall Never See

A poem 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 her leafy arms to pray,

A tree that may in summer wear A nest of robins in her hair

Upon whose blossom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain.

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

Especially if you get it cut back every twenty-five years!