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
This pin oak tree is in my front yard, and as I left home today I thought of this poem. When I look at this oak tree, I see our family's history at this address. The tree was about 5' tall when we moved in. John was 5 years old. As you can tell - we've been here for awhile - about 12 years. I'm amazed at how strong that tree has grown in 12 years. Inside the leafy branches is a hoola hoop that has grown taller than we can reach. John and Dillon got it stuck there about 7 years ago. A year or two later 2 golf balls on a cord got tossed up there and are now part of the time capsule. Two summers ago, I asked John to trim the small tree in our front yard. This wasn't the tree I had in mind. He trimmed it anyhow, all the lower branches he could reach with the step ladder. So it's a litle misshapen. The next chapter in our family story is a grandaughter. So now the lower branch holds a swing that she enjoys. The tree is just changing from green to red. The pin oak does not loose its leaves till spring, a unique characteristic. It's started producing acorns now, so squirrels are plentiful. The tree itself is lovely, but my memories that grow with it are even more precious.
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