Green Man in Rocombe
I saw a Green Man fleetingly,
standing close by the farm shop barn.
The height of a tall hawthorn tree
in that instant – then he was gone.
For a bird song moment he stopped,
(as sliding morning vapour cleared
to wrap around the bramble tops),
then looked my way and disappeared.
Not wistful at the summer’s cease
the gentle closing of the year,
but smiling in a hat of leaves,
garlanded with rose-hip and sloe,
he vanished like a startled deer
or ermine on new winter snow.
Marc Woodward is a poet and musician resident in the West Country. He has been published in anthologies from Ravenshead Press, Forward Press, OWF, and in various magazines and web sites including Ink Sweat & Tears and The Guardian web pages.