The reverence expressed in Kilmer's classic and much loved poem seems to fit this tree in the Atlanta Cemetery. Even without the unintended results of pruning, a tree has a maternal presence; and, here seems to watch over earth's children laid to rest in this place.
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,
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.
By Joyce Kilmer.