My Honey Locust is No Honey

I love poetry and I love trees. And until I lived under a giant honey locust tree, I believed Joyce Kilmer's declaration that "I think that I shall never see a poem as lovely as a tree." Oh, I grant you that on one level, our honey locust is beautiful. Its canopy of green leaves shelters us from the sun and acts as a landing site for the birds contemplating a visit to our feeders.


But three times a year, this tree produces ugly droppings that I abhor! We are just finishing the first offering of ugly little fuzzy things that stick to man-made surfaces like glue. When I finally clean that mess up, round two showers twig-like creations all over the place. By then it is nearly time for the tiny little leaves to fall from the tree. These leaves have the ability to work their way into places that only smoke can go.


I know that Kilmer was right when he said "Poems are made by fools like me, but only God can make a tree." But why did He have to make such a messy one, and park it next to me?

(By the way, ignore the date on the photo. You are not having a Rip Van Winkle moment. The leprechauns were playing with my camera. I actually took the picture tonight.)