TreesbrBy Joyce KilmerbrI think that I shall never see brA poem lovely as a tree. brA tree whose hungry mouth is prest brAgainst the earths sweet flowing breast; brA tree that looks at God all day,brAnd lifts her leafy arms to pray; brA tree that may in Summer wear brA nest of robins in her hair; brUpon whose bosom snow has lain; brWho intimately lives with rain. brPoems are made by fools like me, brBut only God can make a tree.brTrees was published in August 1913. Kilmer died from a snipers bullet on a battlefield in France on July 30, 1918, at the age of 31.