My girls soon grow, increase in height
then steer to weedy left or right.
Each stem will veer or fork or shove:
in hell, roots wind; blooms nod above;
a cherry twist, some salad tossed,
view vine's curled prime and apples sauced;
this raised-up maze, foul thicket's clog,
stalks drop, like logs, while pond drips bog.
So tipsy, crooked- rant! berate!
Know plants must slant: no maid goes straight!

Glenn Bagshaw

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/herrick-muses-while-pruning/