Monday, 16 September 2013



Joyce Kilmer was born in New Jersey in 1886. “Trees” is his best-known poem. It grew even more in popularity in the decades after Kilmer’s death, which occurred while he was fighting in World War I in 1917. Today, streets and schools across the country, a park in New York City and a 3,800 acre forest in North Carolina all bear Kilmer’s name.
By Joyce Kilmer
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.

There is something very magical about lying on your back and looking up into the branches of a tree. It somehow makes you feel whole and at peace...with perhaps Annie Lennox singing words of wisdom and loss in amongst the leaves.

I have found caterpillar's in my hair and robins in the kitchen but I quite like the idea of a robin bobbing along and whispering in my ear from the comfort of his nest entangled in my hair.

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