|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,||5|
|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.||10|
|Poems are made by fools like me,|
|But only God can make a tree.|
I wonder what lives inside?
An Acorn Woodpecker?
Maybe an Owl?
It could be a Squirrel.
It's too far up for me to climb,
so I think I'll have to wait and see.