...I Think That I Shall Never See

This beautiful oak tree is growing on the east side of our city hall. I can remember admiring it as a child and always wishing I had the chance to climb among it's branches. Every time I see it now, I'm reminded of the poem we had to memorize in grade school.

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.
By Joyce Kilmer