Trees by JOYCE KILMER
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 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.
I thank God every day for this little piece of paradise we call home. One of the things that I drew me to this place was the trees – especially the towering cottonwood tree in the back yard. No matter how hot it might be, if you sat under this tree and listened to the breeze rattle the leaves, you felt cooler.
We put a bench under it so when I work in the garden I can there and cool off.
We have lost a few limbs since we moved here and Olin was concerned that it might come down on the house someday so yesterday the cottonwood tree got a major haircut.
A small branch here . . .
Another branch there . . .
And before you know it . . .
There is a big pile of branches on the ground . . .
And my majestic cottonwood tree looks like this!
I am hoping that it will sprout new growth,
but if it doesn’t Olin can build me a tree fort!