By: Joyce Kilmer
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungy 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;
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.
Love this poem. I read it in my literature book a few days ago. There was a little passage about the author next to the poem, and it was so sad to read that he "was killed in France during World War I." Somehow I felt like I knew him a little, through his poetry.