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I think that I shall never see a poem as lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed
against the earth's sweet flowing breast.
A tree that looks at the sky all day
and lifts her leafy arms to sway.
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 bye fools like me
But only a seed can make a tree.
original by Joyce Kilmer (Trees 1913)