I think that I
shall never see
A poem lovely as a
tree.
A tree whose
lovely mouth is prest
Against the sweet
earth’s 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.
From the
book: If trees could talk: stories about Wisconsin Trees by R Bruce
Allison, State Historical Society of Wisconsin © 2009
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