Topiary

Failing sometimes to understand
  Why there are folk whose flesh should seem
  Like carrion puffed with noisome steam,
  Fly-blown to the eye that looks on it,
  Fly-blown to the touch of a hand;
  Why there are men without any legs,
  Whizzing along on little trollies
  With long long arms like apes':
  Failing to see why God the Topiarist
  Should train and carve and twist
  Men's bodies into such fantastic shapes:
  Yes, failing to see the point of it all, I sometimes wish
  That I were a fabulous thing in a fool's mind,
  Or, at the ocean bottom, in a world that is deaf and blind,
  Very remote and happy, a great goggling fish.