Old Oaks

Young oaks, fresh-leafed

uniformed
in naive acorn pride
stand tall in single file
guardians in memoriam

of those who died

– in Time –

gnarled with salt of tears
whorled in winds of sorrow
and furrowed with fires of rage
young grow old

in a different
age

toward the light, away from fear

with deferential bow
to a
Callery Pear