I think about her almost everyday
The girl I used to be
The one who’s slowly, in her time, coming back to me
I pray for her, I hope that she
No matter what the climate be
Will take the time
On bended knee
In rightful posture
And with a thankful heart
Give all the praise to Thee.
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.