Please indulge my passion for trees. After the fridge magnet saga I thought perhaps I should reveal a more, um, er, mature? nature-loving? civilised? side of my character.
So far, I haven't written a poem to accompany my small forest. I know one that was embroidered on a sampler created by one of my great-aunts ('Trees' by Joyce Kilmer) but I do not feel it quite captures the heart of the wood for me. One of the best I have read is by Dave King and can be found here (I'm sure Mr King will not mind you reading it).
My favourite tree line is from the playwright sometimes known as Shakespeare. Sonnet 73 (or in my collection 42):
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
I have often tried to draw this line but have never satisfied myself.