PUBLISHERS OF LITERARY FICTION SINCE 1983
A Hop came out in a kitchen garden
And suddenly began to twine around a dry stake.
In a field nearby was growing a young oak.
“What use is there in that freak,”
The Hop complained to the stake about the oak,
“And indeed in all of his kind?
How does he compare with you?
You are a lady compared to him by virtue of your straightness.
Though he is dressed indeed with leaves,
What rough bark he has, what dull colouring!
Why does the earth support him?”
Not even a week had passed after this
Before the master of the house broke the stick into firewood,
And transplanted the little oak to the kitchen garden.
His labour was rewarded with success:
The little oak took root and put forth branches;
But just look: around it my Hop had already begun to wind,
And to heap honour and praise on that oak.