Bending, Never Breaking

Strong winds rush down and shake the open plain, push at my stem and drive the heavy rain. I lean far over, almost touching earth, bow low beneath the storm’s unmeasured worth. They think I fall, that force will have its way — but deep below my roots are meant to stay. I yield to pressure rather than resist, give with the gale until its rage has missed. When sky clears soft and breezes turn to sigh, I lift my gold again toward the sky. No crack, no split, no damage to my core — just wiser, tougher, ready to stand more. To bend is not to fail, or shrink, or flee; it is the quiet power that lives in me. Through every gust I learn to sway and grow, still whole, still bright, exactly who I know.