Cypress trees

You would think
They are always on their knees
And softened by the misty water
At their feet
And yet they rise
Towards the sky
And see their future
In bright lights
Theirs is the flexibility of youth
Theirs is the hard core
That keeps their spines up straight
When heavy winds come blow
They know this too shall pass
And wait on peace
Cause what’s an hour
For the cypress trees