Plagarizing Kilmer

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a thistle.

A thistle whose hungry mouth is prest

Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A thistle that looks at God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A thistle 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 thistle.