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.
We have a fallen comrade in the neighborhood. We paws'd to appreciate its glorious life.
We had severe storms last night with high winds. Mom is dreading going to the park to see if any of the huge old trees have gone down. Love Dolly
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