As the poet said, 'Only God can make a tree,' probably because

Woody Allen, with the wit of irony, once declared: “As the poet said, ‘Only God can make a tree,’ probably because it’s so hard to figure out how to get the bark on.” In these words he joins jest with truth, using humor to reveal both the majesty of creation and the limits of human craft. For behind the laughter is a reminder: no matter how clever mankind becomes, the mysteries of nature remain beyond full imitation. We may build towers, engines, and machines, yet the simple tree, with its roots and leaves and living bark, stands as a masterpiece untouched by our own making.

O listener, note that the poet he echoes is Joyce Kilmer, who wrote in reverence, “Only God can make a tree.” Kilmer’s verse was filled with awe, exalting the tree as evidence of divine artistry. Woody Allen, in his way, takes this solemnity and turns it to jest—not to diminish its meaning, but to bring it closer to the human heart. For often truth, when clothed in humor, pierces even deeper. By speaking of the difficulty of placing bark upon a tree, he underscores what Kilmer meant: the simplest works of God are infinitely beyond the grasp of man.

Consider the tree itself. Its trunk rises from the soil, clothed in bark that both protects and breathes, shielding its lifeblood while allowing it to grow. Within its rings are written the years of storms and sun, each layer a chronicle of time. Its branches stretch toward heaven, its roots sink deep into the earth, and from its leaves flows the breath of life itself. No human hand can fashion such a thing from nothing. We may carve wood, plant seeds, or even study its cells, but the secret of life, the mystery of bark, remains the mark of God.

History bears witness to man’s longing to imitate such wonders. In the laboratories of alchemists and scientists, countless attempts have been made to replicate life. The philosopher’s stone was sought to make gold, and in time laboratories learned to copy the patterns of living things. Yet even now, with all our technology, we cannot conjure a living tree from empty air. We can plant what has been given, but we cannot invent anew the miracle of growth. This is why Kilmer bowed in reverence, and why Allen, with jest, reminds us of the same truth.

There is also wisdom in the humor itself. For laughter humbles us, reminding us that our pride in human achievement is but dust compared to the quiet power of nature. We may celebrate our inventions, yet the tree, which has no engines nor gears, accomplishes what no machine can: it creates food, shade, shelter, and air, all in silence. The joke about bark reminds us that what seems simple to the eye is, in truth, unfathomably complex. Humor softens the blow, but the truth remains eternal.

The lesson, then, is this: walk humbly among the works of nature. Admire your achievements, but do not forget that they are built upon foundations laid by a hand greater than yours. The tree teaches patience, resilience, and humility, and it stands as a silent sermon of divine artistry. To laugh at the mystery is not to belittle it, but to acknowledge how small we are before it.

Therefore, children of tomorrow, when you see a tree, pause and remember: here is something that no human genius could ever fully create. Let it remind you of the power of God, the beauty of simplicity, and the folly of pride. Seek to learn from nature, not to dominate it; to marvel at its mysteries, not to claim them as your own. For the bark that clings to the tree, which seems so ordinary, is itself a miracle—a miracle that no hand of man has ever truly fashioned.

And so remember Woody Allen’s jest as more than humor—it is wisdom disguised in laughter. The bark, the trunk, the leaf, the breath of the tree all proclaim that some things are forever beyond imitation. In reverence and humility, we are called not to create as gods, but to live as stewards, caretakers, and admirers of the great artistry that only God can bestow.