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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 breath 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, auther of this immortal poem was born in New Brunswick, N. J., December 6, 1886. The Joyce Kilmer Forest, in Western North Carolina, is preserved as an everlasting tribute to him. A soldier in the World War, he was killed in action in France, June 30, 1918. |
