A passerby may wonder
Why wistful I may be,
Why envy haunts my vision
When I view the willow tree.
A passerby may marvel
And admire my molded form.
My every branch and twig and leaf
Has learned how to conform.
My sculptured shape is chiseled
By shears too sharp to see,
For pruning is the price I paid
For this topiary me.
Meandering through scented shops,
Lounging by a pool,
Watching goofy sitcoms,
And trying to look cool,
Crosswords and sudokus,
Magazines and jokes,
These were clipped and hauled away
By the garden training folks.
I don’t begrudge the clipping.
It was my choice, to be sure.
But when the wind blows through the willow,
I feel its freedom’s lure.
-Allison Hill
From ‘The Inner World of Medical Students: Listening to Their Voices in Poetry’ By Johanna Shapiro
http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/search?index=books&linkCode=qs&keywords=9781857757521
Ars Medica 