POETRY BRANCHES ///

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 intimately lives with rain. 
Poems are made by fools like me, 
But only God can make a tree.

― Joyce Kilmer

The Journal of Henry David Thoreau

I stopped short in the path today to admire how the trees grow up without forethought regardless of the time and circumstances. They do not wait as men do—now is the golden age of the sapling—Earth, air, sun, and rain, are occasion enough—.
― The Journal of Henry David Thoreau