Joyce Kilmer. 1886–1918
Trees
I THINK that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry 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.
I’ll bet that if Joyce Kilmer had a garden railroad he would never have written that @&$¥£€>%#^!
Tree dead leaves
Tree live leaves
Tree green thingies
Tree black thingies
Tree twigs
Tree branches
Tree nuts
For some reason as I was blowing tree **** off the layout, Joyce Kilmer’s “Trees” was on my mind.
Bah! Humbug!
Jerry