Not a Limerick

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree

And if perhaps you need the proof,
Here is a tree upon a roof.

She waves her branches in the sky
And cares not if we do or die.

The rain is not a cause of grief;
She laps it up with every leaf.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

After (or "stolen from") Joyce Kilmer's Trees. For National Poetry Day.