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Trees

Today, a number of things have me remembering the first poem I ever memorized. It was sixth grade and I loved the poem. I have remembered it all these years and thought of it often.

A friend posted some pictures on her blog which included pictures of downed trees on her property, trees taken down by time and weather.

And on another blog, the writer is lamenting the loss of two trees in the yard where she grew up; trees that taught her to climb. They have become dangerous to keep so they are being cut down. Can you imagine losing a part of your history, your youth, and not feeling sad?

And on Facebook a friend has been posting pictures of trees that he comes across while he takes his daily walk.

And outside, as the wind blows and the trees surrounding the neighborhood bend with the wind, I am thinking of trees. There’s one in my hard that I cannot stand and sometimes I wish I could pay someone to come cut it down. It’s a messy tree. A cottonwood tree that spreads the cottony mess all over, the wind carrying it for miles. There is often so much of the white cottony stuff flying that it looks like snow and then it accumulates on the ground and it really does look like snow…in the summertime!

And so my mind has been on trees and on this little poem that has lived in my mind since sixth grade:

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 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.

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