I think that I shall never see A Poem as 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 intimately lives with rain. Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree.
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