Poetic Injustice

Posted by Brad Osborne on September 25, 2021 · 18 Comments 

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In lovely prose did Kilmer write

Impressed by an arbored delight

“I think that I shall never see,

A poem lovely as a tree.”

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And in those days of poets past

The only way their words could last

Stained ink upon the wood-pressed sheaf

Paper hewn leaving homeless leaf

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His words so true to his nature

But scrawled upon simple paper

How could he possibly foresee

That his beauty would fell the tree

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In the boughs that held robin’s nest

A feathered friend can find no rest

Poems are made by fools, he said

But even he wanted his poems read

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Fame presses on a greater need

Axe cleaves as wooded soul is freed

And I can see the irony

That “Only God can make a tree”

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