Trees

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 chest:

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 lives intimately with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me.

But only god can make a tree.