My Mimosa

My mimosa lies nondescript in the noonday
Slender limbs splayed in artless play
She hears the call of some distant wind
Upon its westward way.
"I have borne the dove and bird of prey
And bring memories of oceanspray
But now my wandering is at an end
Won't you dance with me today?"
In quiet tumult she folds her palms
Wilting before this unnamed harm.
But she has heard this westwind's song before
And it soothes her into blissful calm.
She returns to caper silently,
For she knows that it is me