~TREES By Joyce Kilmer~
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed
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 people like me,
But only God can make a tree.
~MY TREES by Charlie~
Trees have leaves that cover the ground,
That beckon me to rake my weekends away.
Trees have acorns and cones that fall to earth,
And pound my roof, night and day.
Trees have roots, that plow the earth,
And claims my pipes as it rips terrain.
Worshiped by plumber and gardener alike,
For me, the tree is but torment and pain.
Chop them up for kindling and fuel,
Timber for houses and gallows alike.
I’ll not hug a spruce, pine or maple,
Nor share a woody, on a forest hike.
Tree poems are made by idiots like me,
But only a lumberjack, truly loves a tree.