" One day is spun in gold..
Another day seems red hot or icy cold..
Passing storms clear the air and change the tide..
Each day a new sun!"

Lisa Powell

Wednesday, January 13, 2016

Trees

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.
Trees
Joyce Kilmer


















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