The Green Man

The Green Man

I am a kiss that wakes the long dead winter,
a sleepsong that rouses new heart beats.
I am air and water, the fruit on the vine.
I am tomorrow, with memory in ancient tales

that told of rainbow colour, woven in rich greens,
my roots delve beyond the painted caves of Lascaux
I’m mineral, plant and animal, with touch of divine,
the tree of life grew the column of my spine.

In thickly forested places, I am the wood – the wood
is me. In earth I am the stone – the stone is me.
Carpenters and stonemasons carve me, form myriad
faces that grin and gurn, add lustre to my mystery.

I spew forth a fruiting vine from antlered head.
My breath blows upon the wings of time. Fingers
pay homage to the great dome of the sky where
sycamore, beech and oak leaves twine

with tendrils that flourish round my face.
My wildness is the preservation of the world,
there’s no city where man will recognise my grace,
illumination comes where nature is unfurled.

 

 

From PoetryZoo.Abigael

 

Gael Bage

You must be login to post a comment. Click to login.