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“WOODEN RACKETS FOR TENNIS.” a short poem, a.k.a.: “Playing With Wood In The Morning.” Saturday, October 19, 2019.

Where have all the young men go to die
When we ever learn 🎓

“WOODEN RACKETS FOR TENNIS.” a short poem, a.k.a.: “Playing With Wood In The Morning.” Saturday, October 19, 2019.

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’dAgree:

“Trees are Heaven Sent!”

fin <3

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 inti mately 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.

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By ace101

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