WITH all the publicity lately to try and save the beech trees at Fulford I think the poem below, The Tree by Alfred Joyce Kilmer (1886-1918), is very apt.
I think that I shall never see a poem as lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed against the earth's sweet flowing breast.
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.
T Chilton,
Danum Drive,
Fulford, York.
Updated: 11:25 Wednesday, October 06, 2004
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