tree

I think that i shall never see
a poem lovely as tree;
a tree whose hungry mouth prest
against the earth's sweet flowing breast.

a tree that looks at God all day,
and lifts his leafy arm to pray.

a tree that may in summer wear,
a nest of Robins in her hai.

upon his boson snow has lain,
who intimately lives in the rain.

poems are made by fools like me,
but only God can make a tree.