See, this tree.
This white-barked, wind-bent, skinny bitch reaching toward the sea
I’ve seen her bent nearly to the ground by harsh wind from the mainland, and from the sea
I’ve seen her bent nearly to the ground by men and their ladders trying to do their job but not considering the possible consequences. Or perhaps they did
By men who see her as a task and not as a mighty yet fragile thing
By men who would say *I couldn’t knock her down if I tried but I am going to try*
I’ve seen her thrash. And gently waver. And be still
And she stands. Rough-barked and pock-marked and fearless against the sky
The palm trees whisper loud and hard
*She is rooted*
*She is free*
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