It's probably the most reviled poem in the English language, and for good reason. It's bad science, bad theology, and bad poetry. It probably gives trees a bad name, too. But it is, for all that, the one poem about trees that people remember. And the first two lines aren't too bad. Alfred Joyce Kilmer was killed at the Second Battle of the Marne in 1918. For which sacrifice we should be grateful. In oh so many ways.
TREES
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.