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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 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 bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.​























































 

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Nice.... There is unrest in the forest, There is trouble with the trees, For the maples want more sunlight And the oaks ignore their please. The trouble with the maples, (And they're quite convinced they're right) They say the oaks are just too lofty And they grab up all the light. But the oaks can't help their feelings If they like the way they're made. And they wonder why the maples Can't be happy in their shade. There is trouble in the forest, And the creatures all have fled, As the maples scream "Oppression!" And the oaks just shake their heads So the maples formed a union And demanded equal rights. "The oaks are just too greedy; We will make them give us light." Now there's no more oak oppression, For they passed a noble law, And the trees are all kept equal By hatchet, axe, and saw. PEART
 
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