A horde of sunflowers
 Grows on thin stalks 
   With big, bright heads 
   That tilt chin-upwards.

Could they stand so tall 
  And proudly if they weren't
    Packed against each other?

When one bitch-slaps a sunflower,
   One expects its head to fly 
      Clean off, but it just does 
      An angry little head bobble, 
      And goes about its business, 
      Looking skyward...

   Though - occasionally - one breaks 
      Into a sad nod.