Joyce Kilmer (December 6, 1886 - July 30, 1918) was an American writer and poet best remembered for a short poem entitled "Trees" (1913), which was published in a collection of trees and other poems in 1914.
This naïve poem touches very precisely on my mood when I approach a tree that is a masterpiece of nature and begin to change it, add to it, paint it, detract from it. The magical and conflictual beauty will disappear, something new will come out that can evoke new feelings, but never the initial admiration for the very formation of the complex shapes and textures in the endless processes of change of existence.
Trees BY JOYCE KILMER
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.
