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.
– Joyce Kilmer
I’m sure you don’t remember this post from last year, but I had some pretty pictures of my trees in it. I’m a tree lover. Not necessarily a tree hugger, but a tree lover for sure.
This year my trees aren’t as pretty. I’m thinking maybe it’s because we had some nice weather and then a nasty cold snap over the spring. I was so looking forward to laying in my hammock and looking at all of the pretty white blooms.
Oh well, there’s always next year. Now on to the point of this post. Oh wait! There is no point to this post, is there?. So, um…I guess the point is…ahem…I like trees. Thank you.
Oh and Kristi, if you’re reading this, go back to that post and read our comments. I was laughing out loud at our dorkiness! Love ya, girl!