POEMS FROM DE OLD FOREST

TREES

I think that I shall never see

a poem lovely as a tree

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

Against the earth sweet flowing breast

A tree that loks 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 lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.(From Joyce Kilmer 1886-1918)

GRASS

Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo,

Shovel them under an let me work.

I am tge grass;I cover all.

And pile them high at Gettysburg

And pile them high at Ipres and verdun

Shovel them under and let me workçTwi years,ten years,and passengers ask ther conductor:

Whar pace is this?

Where are we now?

I m the grass let my work

(From:Carl Sandsburg,born 1878)

Images;Gustav Klimt,left,Forest,rigth The Field