Only God can make a tree

Ben has been taking beautiful photos of Canberra's autumnal trees (though he told me this morning that for him the beauty of a tree is in direct proportion to its climbability).  The leaves of red and gold really are exquisite, and they'll probably only last another few weeks before winter blows them all away. I like this poem by Alfred Joyce Kilmer (1886 - 1918). I like the femininity of the images, and the little riddle of a poem founded in its own impossibility.

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.