Trees

Trees
Joyce Kilmer - 1886-1918

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.

Stranded

He used to be the guy who isn't afraid to say and show how he feels, who isn't afraid to send cards, write poems, bring flowers to the girl he cared about. He used to be so gallant, and who doesn't care how far her girl lives and travels just to see and visit her. But she had hurt him. And he was broken... maybe, until now.

He's been patient with her, been there for her. Sometimes she feels he cares about her more than just a friend. But everytime she catches him acting a little differently, he suddenly turns cold. He wouldn't say a thing. He's waiting for her.

But she has too much pride to make the first move.

And so, there they are... just friends.