Thursday, April 8, 2010


i often find myself with trees on the brain. there is something infinitely captivating about a tree. how old is it? what birds have sung amongst its branches? they are also ever-changing, in perfect sync with the world. there are also the memories i have of being amongst trees which make me love them. we are welcome to dream, to climb, and to ponder in their presence. magic can exist for a moment when the wind rustles the branches and the leaves play their own music in the golden sun. we are brought back closer to where we belong.

there is a poem i stumbled upon in a copy of "100 classic poems" given to me by a friend. the poem is "trees" by james joyce (1914).
      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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