At Their Peak by Gillian Foster

Bows and curtsies,
creaking as spindly fingers
twist and turn towards the sky.
Pushed by some unseen force
to the point of nearly breaking,
then thrust back to mellifluous comfort.

Hums and whistles,
singing as the wind blows through,
whispering ancient secrets through its branches.
It maintains its proud composure
until the ceasing of the haunting wind.