Some of us are pollarded: <br />The opportunities <br />Where we would branch out <br />Are cut back <br />By pruning hooks of <br />Sheer conformity, <br />The need to fit the norm. <br />We must not stand out <br />From the crowd <br />As we limply line life’s avenues <br />That lead to that <br />Which some folks call success. <br /> <br />And there are some <br />That are restricted even more: <br />Lopped down <br />Until mere coppiced shoots remain. <br />Though feeble shoots <br />Of aspiration <br />May thrust up a while <br />They soon are regimented <br />Back to base <br />By humdrum’s woodsman’s axe <br />To be the brushwood <br />Of the daily drudge. <br /> <br />And as we stand in line <br />On busy boulevards of business <br />Or slink away in thickets <br />We dare behold in awe <br />Those maiden oaks <br />That grow to their full height: <br />The paragons <br />And specimens <br />That head for glory. <br />The superstars who sprout <br />Fed by the rain of recognition <br />In the sunshine of celebrity. <br /> <br />But yet we know <br />That even in our bonsai state, <br />That secateurs of <br />Sensibility have kept in check, <br />We have a certain comfort <br />Since the winds of change <br />Can shake these giants to the core <br />And when they fall <br />These that are tall today <br />Will suffer more that us <br />If they are humbled <br />And come tumbling to the ground.<br /><br />C Richard Miles<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mighty-oaks/
