The Giants in the Forest

I think that I shall never see, a poem as lovely as a tree. A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed, against the earths 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 Kimber

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