I think that I shall never see a beautiful poem lovely as a tree. A tree whose hungry mouth is prest against the sweets earths flowing breasts. Then the tree look at god all day and lift her leafy arms to pray. A tree that may wait in the summer to wear a nest of in her hair. Upon whose blossoms has lain and lives with the rain. Poems are made by fools like me but only god can make me see a beautiful tree.