Survivor

A Cootamundra wattle found itself
stranded alone, high on a coastal dune,
where storms from lows off the continental shelf
regularly gave the sapling a cruel prune.
Decembers had been kind, but every June
had thrashed and beaten back each branch that tried
reaching to south or upward until soon
the tree could only grow to the leeward side.
Like a blown plume of smoke, or like the tide
dragging the river weeds in the same way,
the tree lay prone to northward since denied
all other ways by wind and salty spray.
But sheltered by itself since beaten down,
each spring it wears the dunes' sole golden crown.