The Green Man
A poem by C. Robert Hilton.
Great bonfires scare Winter in November.
Green mistletoe bears berries in December.
The Green Man watches.
Dancers step out their Equinoctial rites.
Cherry Man finds old jokes that he recites.
The Green Man smiles.
Though churches stand upon each ancient site
No priest nor parson can deny outright
The Green Man’s there.
No temple, no priests adulate him now.
No soil in which hypocrisy can grow.
The Green Man rests.
Men polishing their gods beneath the Sun
Claim unique truth, can’t see those gods are one.
The Green Man knows.
©2008 C. R. Hilton
