Black bamboo

February winds
So cold, so angry
Nature’s sharpened tool of destruction
Seeking out all signs of weakness
There are those that stand strong
Against the violent onslaught
But in the end they have no choice
But to gracefully yield
With battered bodies and
Brave heads lowered in defeat.
Yet the black bamboo
Remain standing proud and tall
Laughing, swaying, taunting
Come wind, come
For we love to dance.