A Moment Beneath the Trees

Beneath the trees they gathered close,
Where branches hid the sky.
A fleeting shelter from the storm,
From shells that screamed nearby.

The forest floor was cold and damp,
With poppies stained in red.
And every man wore hollow eyes
From all the tears unshed.

Some leaned silent on their packs,
Some smoked with shaking hands.
Others stared through drifting mist
Toward scarred and broken lands.

Beyond the woods the battle raged,
The guns like thunder rolled.
Yet here beneath the autumn leaves,
The air felt strangely still and cold.

One soldier closed his weary eyes
And dreamt of home once more.
Of children laughing down the lane,
And boots beside the door.

Another smelled fresh baked bread,
Warm cakes upon a tray.
His mother humming softly low
At the ending of the day.

One dreamt of Sunday roasting meat,
Of gravy rich and deep.
A crowded table filled with warmth,
And peaceful nights of sleep.

Another saw a fireside chair,
A pint held in his hand.
A pipe that glowed in amber light,
Far from this shattered land.

They dreamt of wives and sweethearts,
Of dancing halls and rain.
Of ordinary little things
They feared they’d never see again.

Then suddenly the silence broke.
The distant thunder grew.
The ground beneath the forest shook,
As death came roaring through.

A whistle cried from somewhere near,
A sharp and bitter sound.
And every dream came crashing down
Upon the muddy ground.

Slowly the soldiers rose once more,
With rifles, packs, and pain.
No man spoke as they turned back
Toward the screaming line again.

The trees stood still behind them,
Their shelter left behind.
While thoughts of home burned quietly
Inside each weary mind.

And through the smoke and falling ash,
As evening turned to night,
They marched away from fleeting peace
Back toward the endless fight.

I wrote this poem to capture the fragile moments of peace soldiers found amid the chaos of war. Hidden beneath the trees from shellfire and death, they drift into thoughts of home — warm kitchens, laughter, Sunday dinners, and quiet evenings by the fire — before the thunder of battle calls them back once more to the front line.

#WarPoetry #Remembrance #Soldiers #LestWeForget #MilitaryHistory #BattlefieldMemories