I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth's 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
I love trees. We live in a neighborhood with lots of them, this once having been a wooded area before our development was built amidst the tall oaks and others. I'm always sad when one is cut down, usually worrying that it was the home of some squirrels or birds. I'm kind of silly that way. I'm a little melancholy tonight for several reasons, among which is the fact that every day it seems I hear of more of my brethren who are going through one kind of trial or another. Such was the case tonight--I just heard of another one. So I've abruptly changed from what I was going to post and while looking outside at the falling snow, this familiar poem that we all know came to mind. I don't even know what I want to say; I just wanted to post it.
Well, I will say that I'll learn a lesson or two from trees: They look at God all day and lift their arms to pray. Probably in the morning, snow (and ice) will be lying on the bosoms of the trees in and around my yard. They'll keep lifting their arms to God, though. I pray the same for my several hurting friends who are struggling through their winter storms.