Dear Editor:

I think I shall never see

A poem as lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

Against the sweet earth’s flowing breast.

A tree that looks at God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray.

A tree that may in summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair.

Upon whose bosom snow has lain,

Who intimately lives with vain.

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree. (Joyce Kilmer)

Nine acres clear cut for a parking lot! By a botanical garden in a watershed. Disgraceful!

Joyce Sirois

East Boothbay