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Trees

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast ;

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.

                         Joyce Kilmer (1886)

H M Patel Institute of English Training & Research, Vallabh Vidyanagar - 388120, Gujarat, India

Phone : 091-2692-230193, 091-2692-230079