I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth's 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. 1886–1918
So when I told my wife I was doing a tree for the 'poem' post, she said, "Oh, yeah... 'I think that I shall never see...' Hmm. A little trite, wouldn't you say?" I agreed. Then I secretly looked up the actual poem. Had never really been acquainted with the whole thing.
Maybe one level up from trite.
Anyway, I offer this is tribute to the wonderful California coastal oak trees that dot our hillsides.
Peace to all of you, tree-huggers and otherwise.