Trees - Louis Armstrong, Gordon Jenkins' Orchestra

I think that I shall never see

A poem as lovely as a tree

A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed

Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast

O, a tree that looks at God all day

And lifts her leafy arms to pray

A tree that may in summer wear

Yeah, a nest of robins in her hair

Upon whose bosom snow has lain

Who intimately lives with rain

Poems are made by fools like me

But only God can make a tree