Song: |
-6 -6 6 6 5 5 4 -4
5 5 -4 -4 4 4 3 4
4 4 -4 -4 5 5 7 7
4 4 -4 -4 5 5 7 8
7 -7 -6 5 6 6 5 -6
-5 -5 -5 5 -5 5 -4 5
-6 -6 6 6 5 5 4 -4
5 5 -4 -4 4 4 3 4
4 4 -4 -4 5 5 7 7
4 4 -4 -4 5 5 7 8
7 -7 -6 5 -5 6 5 -6
5 -5 6 -6 -6 -7 6 7
SPOKEN
I think, that I shall, nev-er see,
A po-em, love-ly, as a tree,
A tree whose, hung-ry mouth, is pressed,
A-gainst, the earth's, sweet flow-ing, breast,
A tree, that looks, at God, all day,
And lifts, her leaf-y, arms to pray,
A tree that may, in sum-mer wear,
A nest of rob-ins, in her hair,
Up-on whose bos-om, snow has lain,
Who in-tim-ate-ly, lives with rain,
Po-ems, are made, by fools, like me,
But on-ly God, can make, a tree! |