I Think That I Shall Never See . . . With Apologies to Joyce Kilmer!

Trees

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.

I hope Joyce Kilmer will forgive me for republishing his famous poem without permission. He died in 1918 at the age of 32, from a sniper's bullet in WWI. I hope he won't mind.

Today, as I watched a tree I've enjoyed for a few months since moving into my new home being cut down today, I cried. And I've been thinking about trees ever since. 

Kilmer's poem does the work for me of expressing the simple beauty of these silent giants. 

This particular tree stood across the street from my home. It was an elderly Norwegian Maple, and doubtless its time had come. But since living here, I've enjoyed watching the sunrise each morning lightening the sky, and the branches taking shape from the darkness as I sit in my chair (that still smells faintly of cat pee courtesy of a short-term kitty who stayed a few months with us last year). And each evening I've enjoyed watching the sun set behind the tree, turning the sky pink, orange or purple, highlighting the branches and twigs of the ancient maple, perfectly framed in my uncurtained window. 

It gave me peace. 

 Now the trunk stands alone, for some reason not having been removed yet, and the sky is darkening above it, without the charm of the branches that stood there for decades...possibly centuries...until today.

Do you ever wonder how it is you end up somewhere special, just at the moment in history when that thing that makes it special departs?

I'm glad I had a few months with this tree. And ridiculous as it may sound, I won't forget it.