“I think that I shall never see,
A poem as 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.”

JOYCE KILMER