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 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; Sequoia Tree Sequoia National Forest, CA
