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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 its leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear
a nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosum snow has lain;
who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
but only God can make a tree.
– Joyce Kilmer

Framed – 7×16
Unframed – 7×16

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