“WOODEN RACKETS FOR TENNIS.” a short poem, a.k.a.: “Playing With Wood In The Morning.”

“WOODEN RACKETS FOR TENNIS.” a short poem, a.k.a.: “Playing With Wood In The Morning.” Saturday,

My tennis strokes are long and hard and yours are sure & quick;

I wish I hadMeAracket (like yours) aRacketSo supple and slick,

Yet, I still think WOOD v. WOOD, My Friend, is a worthy “tennis precedent,”

And that if GOD did play with us, (S)He’d Agree:

“Trees are Heaven Sent!”

For, “I think I’ll never (ever) see,

A poem, (as) lovely as a tree;

A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed, Again 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 rain,

Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree.”

penned by Joyce Kilmer, not to be confused with Val Kilmer.

Joyce was born in New Brunswick, N. J. and died at age 32, while fighting in World War I.