every branch is bent low, still
this wind shouts at them, beating
them hard, testing
their willingness to dance on
for days, dance on like
dervishes falling
into the ecstasy of spring.

every branch is bent low, still
this wind shouts at them, beating
them hard, testing
their willingness to dance on
for days, dance on like
dervishes falling
into the ecstasy of spring.
