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JOYCE KILMER, ON TREES
If ever a poet dreamed of being a tree when he died, it had to be poet Alfred Joyce Kilmer (1886-1918). Everybody remembers a smidgen (two lines, maybe?) of his famous short poem from his book “Trees and Other Poems” (1914).
Trees, by Joyce Kilmer
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.