Jingles from a Jungle

This is the jungle where trees can’t grow,
but bees and birds do move about in slow
circles between Yeses and Nos.

Shrubs are strewn in studied disarray
of half-growths and hybrids, as if some may
fidget at the fulsome, who knows?

Dwarfs are cultivated with their roots
cut in time, and castration removes the parts
for faith or feelings in the young shoots.

Science of dwarfing is an art, and politics
its precursor perhaps; you see them fix
a stilted among the stunted,
a devil amidst the daunted;
yes, it’s all planned and planted.

The Commoner uncommon rides like a Colossus
through a sleight of hand (or leg) by a band ofsagacious
followers who lead to present a circus.

Signs are often lost and the few symbols
mistaken. Progress beating the cymbals
has neither time nor patience to analyse
The root-cause of this rootless malaise.

Cities, jungles, democracies
Somewhere, somewhen, someone
Must have missed the wood for trees.