Joyce Kilmer was born on December 6, 1886, in New Brunswick, New Jersey. He was killed while fighting in World War I. He is the author of the following poem.
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree
A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed
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.
This man of war appreciated God’s design and man’s deficiency. Do we have the same sensitivity for life on the planet?
God looked on the earth, and behold, it was corrupt; for all flesh had corrupted their way upon the earth.
Give it some thought.
Gary