TREES
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth's 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 .
Ostensibly exploring the practice of law before the internet. Heck, before good highways for that matter.
Wednesday, July 30, 2014
The Big Speech: Trees
1918. Poet Joyce Kilmer, U.S. Army sergeant, killed in France.
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