Lore of the Land

The Greenman here if ever so,

as spirit of the conifer,

with crumpled coat and haloed hat,

but ripe-full face revealing nowt -

inn-sider trading, painted sign.

I like him best not incarnate,

save in a pantheistic form,

that natural order, growing things

from knoll, copse, grove through forestry,

the spinney, coppice family.

His cloak is canopy on high

or drapery of willow wisps,

invisibility renowned

for those hew tree trunk, limb, wood see,

though neither envy nor naïve.

Embanked, his silver in the birch,

as each rings out to pealing bark,

and grain grows on throughout the year,

a bole full filled by all accounts,

his influence of root and branch.

Admire him in the conker fall,

as shiny balls join stringing match,

that auxin, leaves, recycled soil,

when worms join toil to metamorph

the fall, of winter, springing forth.

Told lore, antediluvian,

has currency through to this day;

that green, the restful hue today

is borne of folklore deity,

natural law duly observed.