Willow
A tribute to Joyce Kilmer
I sit under this willow tree.
Its pendulous branchlets swaying
In concinnity around me,
spontaneously bestirring
a soliloquized pleasantry:
No measured words and rhymes I write
Could ever describe your beauty
Because fools never get it right
and” Poems are made by fools like me”
imperfect, conventional lines.
“But only God can make a tree”
creation of perfect design.
So I write down beneath this tree
these feeble lines of poetry.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
