Trees by Joyce Kilmer
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth’s 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.
“The underground river is reputed to be the world’s longest. At the mouth of the cave, a clear lagoon is framed by ancient trees growing right to the water’s edge.”
I promised myself not to make a big deal out of 11.11.11. But when I woke up that morning, I could sense something’s really different. The morning sun was glowing, looking so majestic that everything that its golden rays could reach turned into something bright and cheery. Thus, the wide, open field in front of our house look like its summertime already – the season of the year when weather seems to sing, promising us that lovely days are coming.
Or maybe I was just too busy fulfilling my daily routine that I forgot to see what each day has to offer? Whether it was a lucky day or not, one thing I am sure of— that it’s a day I should be thankful for. Thank You, for that wonderful sight to behold!