A poem by Sergeant Joyce Kilmer


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.

1. Slang for marijuana.

Sample Usage:

  • When seeking to purchase in the ghetto: "Hey yo, where da trees at?"
  • When with friends: "Wanna smoke some trees?"
  • And I found this ripe example at urbandictionary.com: "Yo, i caught my dad smokin trres the other day and i told him if he really wanted to get high to let me roll a dutch of my trees."

(All content hereafter added 12.04)

2. Earning 15 points in dominos (New knowledge courtesy of, again, urbandictionary.com).

3. I also feel this is an appropro time to mention that although urbandictionary.com had this additional information about dominos first, comparatively the site is not as flexibly tree structured as e2 is, and it's definitely not nearly as cool or have as intelligent a populace. Sure, it's got related links in a corner, and voting and whatnot, but sometimes, if I close my eyes while I'm node-surfing here, I almost feel like I've climbed high up into this tree of everything, tangled in branches of knowledge and ticked by leaves of love and... sorry. The objective part of this writeup ended at the end of point number 2. :)


Shine green
Bright green
My eyes grow big so that I can take it all in
The light stings my wet eyes
But yet I do not look away
The rain makes the tree heavy
The branches sweep my head
They drop small raindrops on my rain soaked hair

They look surreal in the murky fog that surrounds the buildings
Their trunks are a deep black from the rain
Their leaves shine brilliant shades of green

The garden is lined with these trees
All sizes and colours

One green

One red

One yellow

I wish I could paint so that I could capture the brilliance of the scene
Words alone cannot do it justice
Perhaps not even a picture could capture the feeling that the trees give this day
I could look up every word to describe beauty and yet the phrases would lack the smell of the water drenched trees
You wouldn’t be able to feel the rain fall on your eyelashes
I've given up on words to describe what I feel.

I wish you could see it
I wish sometimes I could show people what Its like to look through my eyes
Maybe then they could understand me a little bit better

The Tree

I sit listening to the stories on the wind, soaking up the warm sunlight with my leaves.

I sense a small tug and look down to see my earth child swing into my lower branches.

I say my because I have watched her grow, held her when no one would, listened when

no one could, protected her when no one could. She clears my branches of the dead pieces

and climbs higher, crying and hurt I notice. She slips and I move a branch, only enough

for her to reach. She grabs it and sits, shaking for a few moments before continuing to climb

till she reaches the four braches where she lays and cries herself to sleep.

As she sleeps I remember. I remember the first time she climbed me, then years later as she

dared climb higher to the spot she lay now. The days she spent reading, or listening to me.

Understanding I was telling her a story, hearing what I said somewhere deep inside while I tell

her in the language only the children can hear, telling her stories only the trees can tell.

I remember how I hid her from the world and reality, shielding her from those who would seek

her out only to hurt her. Remembering how she realized that they wouldn't climb for fear of

falling and we laughed together.

Remembering how she played among my branches, swinging from limb to limb, upside down,

letting go with her knees, only to catch her hands on the limb below, scaring the others who

dared not climb, even to my lowest branches.

As I remember, she remembers in her sleep. She awakens and smiles, sitting up. She hugs me

and in my own way, I hug her back. She slowly climbs down and tells me that she will come back

soon. She sits on the bottom branch and lets her momentum carry her till she hangs like the little

furry flying creatures that like to roost in my bows, and then she laughs. She flips and lands on her


I laugh to, and hope she never grows too old to sit with me and listen to the stories on the wind.

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