Saturday, May 31, 2008

the privet hedge

green growing thing
a found poem


Pruning is not my natural thing.

Unlike my father
who has waged grim war
with invasive weeds, ivy and
old man's beard

I have a weakness
for the vigour
of our cottage-embracing
vine

Forcing its tendrils
through my study window

Likewise the privet hedge
growing wildly
in all directions

Ching Ling silently
hands me
the hedge-cutting
shears. I

Am on the side
of untamed growth
she

On the side
of discipline


Found in Harry Eyres' Pruning vines and verses column in this morning's Financial Times.

1 comment:

narthex said...

Lovely found poem. I identify with it very much, preferring thickets of the forest to the manicured borders of gardens.

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