I think that I shall never see a poem as lovely as a tree. 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.
1 comment:
How come we didn't shove it in your face? or mine? I would have liked/loved that!!!! Next time.
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