Shane and I spent a day hiking through John Muir National Park. We saw trees that were hundreds of years old, others that were still in their first century of life. Sunlight has been unable to filter through much of the canopy to reach foliage on the forest floor. If trees could talk, what mysteries would they share?
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.
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