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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📖 About this poem
Kilmer's "Trees" is a small, humble confession dressed up as a nature poem. Its argument is simple: human art, however lovely, can only imitate what's already been made. The poem moves in rhymed couplets, plain and songlike, which is part of why it's stuck in memory for over a century — it reads almost like a hymn or a nursery rhyme, easy to recite, easy to love or gently mock.
The images do the real work. A tree with a "hungry mouth" pressed to the earth, drinking through roots, turns something ordinary into something tender and alive. Just as memorable is the tree lifting "her leafy arms to pray," which makes the whole poem feel like quiet devotion rather than description.
What keeps it landing today is its plainness. It doesn't reach for cleverness. It just points at a tree, admits its own limits, and asks us to notice something we usually walk past.
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