Trees

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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.

Category: Classic Songs

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