I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
No, wait! I cannot write those lines.
Neither sentiment nor words are mine.
‘Twas Mr. Kilmer wrote that verse
That, as a child I did rehearse.
And to this day, I know by heart
Each line and stanza from the start.
Now, as a poet myself, I’ve learned
That critics did his poems spurn.
And several thought his sentiment
Too structured and tradition’ly bent.
Too sentimental, some have said;
Still his words live, though they are dead.
To me, his words in laud of trees
Are just what poems are meant to be.