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.
— Joyce Kilmer
The poem above was found today on the Daily Kos, posted in the comments of a well-written article about ancient religions by Ojibwa after I stood totally transfixed staring at our Silver Maple after dinner tonight.
Like many of us, I am fascinated by spirituality, in awe of nature, and curious about both.
I stumbled down a quite wonderful rabbit hole today and if you’re feeling this post so far, I recommend you do the same. I was intrigued by the bio of Kilmer and did a little exploration of Animism. I will write more on that later as I am feeling out an important observation about all plants and how they are intricately woven into our lives (e.g. how they inspire us as writers and humans or how they show up in our own spiritual practices?).
But that’s all for this post. For now, I want to pause and reread. Care to join me and we can read the poem together? 🤗.