Ancient One

What has offended you?
You recoil, perhaps against the wind,
ever-pummeling as it is.
Do not recoil, not to that.

The bend in you, is it of nature?
I daresay someone has put it there,
a maliciousness, an evil, has done this to you.
Straighten up, ancient one, don’t stoop.

Oh, but you are beautiful, are you not?
I think it is the permanence of you,
or the patience in your dwelling.
Rise up, for you madden me, rise.

Your acceptance is taunting me,
for I wish, like you, I could be content
to sit and listen to the wind’s most
aching bellows. Do not recoil.
Not to that.