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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.