Sentinel Tree (In honor of Memorial Day)

In winter's lonely night endured
a tree, stood in silhouette
against flash and flames flicker
of battle's bombs bursting.

Within a foxhole, pitched and tossed
with near impact of enemy shells
I looked up to the single tree
safe as long as it still stood.

Throughout the dreadful fight
over me, stood a silent sentinel
in its shadow reassuring me,
the hole dug was not my grave.

In the morning, with grateful prayer
for faith found in barren boughs
not knowing whether its life
still remained, deep in its root's heart.

In the midst of dire doubt,
its shadow bolstered hope
I needed that most, against
cold cruel circumstance.

Months passed, then in spring,
marching past the battlefield
life returning all around,
concealing the scars of war.

Standing, the same solitary tree
shaped just as I had recalled,
throughout night it once reassured,
now budding from friendly form.

Life did not depart me,
as too, its own was spared
our lives bound together in dirt,
as friends we were one night.