B. Royce

Joyce Kilmer's Trees

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Here is my re-write of Joyce Kilmer's poem, Trees.

I think that I shall never see

A poem lonely as a tree.

A tree whose aching mouth is pressed

Against the earth's half-filling breast;

A tree that looks at man all day,

And beckons him to come her way;

A tree that yearns a desk to be

To bear pen-lines of poetry,

And books that lie in stacks.

(Oh, the swinging axe!)

Poems are made by gods like me,

And only man can shape a tree.



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