Fall Leaves

Trees by Joyce Kilmer

 

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 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.

 

And all I have to say is AMEN!