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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 looks at God all day, And lifts her leafty 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. From Grees and Other Poems by Joyce Kilmer
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