The poem goes like this.
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.
Many of us recall the stately and majestic trees on Papa and Granny Kilgore's old home place. The enormous old oak trees that graced the landscape around the old house were beautiful. They also served as shade through the years and even recreation as we swung from a rope in a rubber tire hanging from one of the large branches. Just as we have gotten older with our aches and pains, so likewise, the trees of our childhood have resulted in signs of old age.
Over two years ago the worst happened when the large tree closest to the old house split open and a hugh part of it landed on the tin roof of the back portion of the house where the old kitchen was originally . The structure was not damaged, but the roof sure was. When I heard the news, I was heart-broken. At first, my Dad mentioned burning the house down, but after some discussion and persuasion, he agreed to have someone cut the tree up and then repair the tin roof.
You can see the evidence of that great tree because the base remains next to the house. Though the tree had looked strong, it was truly weak. The tree was infested with carpenter ants and had a hollow inside core. This can also be true with people's lives. Just know that only God can make a tree. Certainly it is God who can only make our hollow lives, full and complete. Trees are a part of God's creation and do point to Him. But even more so, our family is also God's creation and I pray we all will point to Him. I leave you with that thought.
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