They say that as the twig is bent, so grows the tree...
and I have seen it--crooked little saplings forced to cower.
They wrench their twisted limbs and drop their flying seeds haphazardly to scavenge midst hard roots. Their boughs are educated to bend low and make no answer.
Yet I have heard them shriek--an awkward, unbecoming, and completely futile objection to certain fierce storms--before they droop to seethe in distorted silence.