Topiary, a poem. #topiary
I sing a song of topiary!
(A hobby quite extraordinary.)
If you want to clip your privet,
So that you will not outlive it
Read a book on horticulture
And then set about your sculpture.
It’s living art, always growing
Evergreen – sunshine or snowing,
Inosculated and finely pleached,
The perfect shape you will have reached.
You may find this all hard graft
But it is a living craft
Think of the satisfaction you will get
Because you never hedged your bet.
Obeisks, spirals, cubes or cones
Bushes shaped like telephones,
Ducks and rabbits, hopping frogs,
Pleated twigs and shapely logs.
But not for me,
Don’t get blubbery.
It’s only shrubbery.