Ballad of the green man

Bart Wolffe


Is this the place then, where it begins?

Only since I dreamt the great oak standing

In the woods, so deep in the emerald heart

Among its sentinels, a deer below such a canopy

Whose shy flank quivered like a leaf,

Whose ears trembled lest the air

Betray its death,

Whose damp nose shivered

Tasting the very loam, the fragrant earth

And its sweet shoots in waiting

And the hush was soft as the trees swallowed the light

And a small breeze ran through

As a stream that carried winged fishes

In so many colours, butterflies flickering

And those notes from the throats of wrens.

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