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 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. 1886–1918] | A poem from my childhood—so many things change. I’ve grown up I guess. I dare to write poetry sometimes. I’ve got photos to prove I’ve become a tree hugger. My appreciation for God, my perception of God [better not say ‘vision of God’ or you might get the wrong idea], my relationship with God all continue to grow. …I guess I’m still growing UP. |
Joyce Kilmer would never have seen a bottle tree—would he have described it as ‘lovely’? I can’t find the right word. But I like them—they’re special. I glimpsed this one near Narrabri Lake—the fattest one I’ve ever seen. So when we came back to Narrabri the next day [out to lunch for Michael’s birthday] we made a detour so I could take some photos. |