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 itimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
but only God can make a tree.
I was thinking about this wonderful piece as dog was frantically searching for something resembling a tree on our stroll along our prairie road this morning. Then I drove down 95 and remembered, as Mark Morford did, how beautiful this drive once had been. My heart broke as I passed the Hecla Mining campus and saw the number of those big, beautiful pines that have been slaughtered for a monument to an ego. How telling that it's for the Coldwell Banker Commercial Division!!