Trees (Monday Poem)

by Harry Behn


Trees are the kindest things I know,
They do no harm, they simply grow

And spread a shade for sleepy cows,
And gather birds amid the boughs.

They give us fruit in leaves above,
And wood to make our houses of,

And leaves to burn on Halloween,
And in the spring new buds of green.

They are the first when day's begun
To touch the beams of morning sun,

They are the last to hold the light
When evening changes into night,

And when the moon floats on the sky
They hum a drowsy lullaby

Of sleepy children long ago . . . .
Trees are the kindest things I know.



from Time for Poetry: A Teacher's Anthology, compiled by May Hill Arbuthnot, 1951, Scott Foresman and Company