Some days I wonder why I try
To change things for the better.
I am left trying not to cry
Bound with an iron fetter.
Bound with a choking collar made
Of restricting states of mind
Riveted with hard statements said,
Rigid thinking does so bind.
Suggesting change brings forth contempt
Hatred and anger are thrown
So why do I even attempt
To change what has firmly grown?
Does the rose hate the pruning shear?
The bonsai tree its restraint?
Yet each grows fairer the next year
With no seeming bitter taint.