Trees

I Tthink 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.