Joyce Kilmer

When we think back to our childhood, one of the first poems we likely remember is “Trees” by Joyce Kilmer (December 6, 1886 – July 30, 1918) who was born on this day.

Kilmer was killed at the age of 31 by a snipers bullet in the second Battle of the Marne during World War I.

Trees

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.
--Joyce Kilmer