Irish Independent - Weekend Review - - FRONT PAGE -

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 1886-1918

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