The wind’s cold overpowered the heat of the sun,
it’s warmth having to travel 93 million miles
while the wind was right here, stiff and strong.
The stalks bent in its force, unresisting.
They learned long ago that the way to meet
a blow was to bow to its power.
Between gusts, they straightened again,
and again they bowed, as a new gust came.
They considered it a dance.
And come what may, they decided
they would dance until the music
stopped, or leveled them.
Either way, they would be proud,
knowing they had given it
their all.