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trees

I think that I shall never see A poem so 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 intimatimately lives with rain. Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree. Joyce Kilmer