Windbreak

By Tony Peneff, Chilliwack, BC

That wood,
That hewn oak,
That has keeled  New World’s sons to Norman shores.
From  Eastern townships, Western Plains,
in barks across the sea.
It is a call to colours,
that rise in green, and fall in red.
A stand against the breach,
Leaned against a raging wind.
Pressed into the ground
khaki-ed bodies nest,
under, yet- to- be- quercian pyres, away from the wailing cry..
Waiting for the command to burst.

In this nest, a clutch of seeds are found,
familiar, home found.
From  blasted and shorn boughs these acorns have fallen,
into pockets, mis- placed
scattered, and stored.
But not forgotten.
To be planted
To rise and stand,
in wind-erring line again.
In  silent requiem,
A break against the storm