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Trees
by Joyce Kilmer
I think that I shall never see
A poem as lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks to 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
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools
But only God can make a tree.
Joyce Kilmer died in the
second Battle of the Marne under German gunfire in 1918,
and France posthumously awarded him the Crois de Guerre.
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