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!