If it were the last thing I did

Quoting another World War I poet stirred something within me. I have  not been able to cease remembering,

I THINK that I shall never see
A poem 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,	5
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.	10
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

The words are by an American, Joyce Kilmer, one of so many sacrificed on  the Western Front in the “war to end all wars.” I am aware of many good deeds that are done in the name of Christ. I am  particularly touched by one. She planted four acres of hardwoods a few years  back. Now she has bought ten acres more. On it she intends to plant 16,000  hardwoods and nuts of 16 varieties, all of the type that covered Indiana in the  years before the settlers came. Asked about it, she only replies, “It is something that I feel I have to do.” Once again our troops are coming home again, some. As spring comes once  again, it seems to me that there is something that each one of us needs to do: to  plant a tree.