by Joyce Kilmer
1 I think that I shall never see
2 A poem as lovely as a tree.
3 A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
4 Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
5 A tree that looks at God all day,
6 And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
7 A tree that may in Summer wear
8 A nest of robins in her hair;
9 Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
10 Who intimately lives with rain.
11 Poems are made by fools like me,
12 But only God can make a tree.