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deciduously ~ Arbor Day, April 30, 2010
deciduously
I've never met a tree
that lived in vanity
no leaf envy or regret,
no alms or qualms
just taste its fruit
and see what happens
when Mother Nature bares her truth.
~A
Joyce Kilmer's poem ~ (posted to warriorpoets)
Alfred Joyce Kilmer (December 6, 1886 July 30, 1918) was an American journalist, poet, literary critic, lecturer, and editor. Though a prolific poet whose works celebrated the common beauty of the natural world as well as his religious faith, Kilmer is remembered most for a short poem entitled "Trees" (1913), which was published in the collection Trees and Other Poems in 1914.
A sergeant in the 165th U.S. Infantry Regiment, Kilmer was killed at the Second Battle of Marne in 1918 at the age of 31.
Trees
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
I've never met a tree
that lived in vanity
no leaf envy or regret,
no alms or qualms
just taste its fruit
and see what happens
when Mother Nature bares her truth.
~A
Joyce Kilmer's poem ~ (posted to warriorpoets)
Alfred Joyce Kilmer (December 6, 1886 July 30, 1918) was an American journalist, poet, literary critic, lecturer, and editor. Though a prolific poet whose works celebrated the common beauty of the natural world as well as his religious faith, Kilmer is remembered most for a short poem entitled "Trees" (1913), which was published in the collection Trees and Other Poems in 1914.
A sergeant in the 165th U.S. Infantry Regiment, Kilmer was killed at the Second Battle of Marne in 1918 at the age of 31.
Trees
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