I think that I shall never see a poem lively as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed 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.
-Joyce Kilmer