Faded pages, bound in the heavy leather of an ancient tome
Their edges worn from hand after hand after hand, across time
Verses scribed in Kumric, Welsh, Manx, and Runic
Others, some older in Cornish, Cumbric, Ogham, and Lepontic
This chrestomathy of the sacred letters of the Green Man
Hand scribed by the Pagan Traveler, the one known by the many
Across the lands, both the plentiful fields and the rocky crags
His image will be found tucked high and low, in wood and stone
A crown of yew berries adorns his head, unchanging over centuries
Arriving on the dawn to greet his people, those of the greens
Healthy and fit, appearance simple, as a forest dwelling man
With a tireless spirit, helping hand, and a never ending cup
Spreading the seeds of the old magic through his sacred ways
Surrounded by foilage rich and green, only moments away
Folk gather to hear; In the sacred groves he shares his words
The telling of remembrance, of inspiration, of humility
Guard the woodlands as they provide for all who take breath
Take notice of all things large and small, for nothing is for naught
Keep sacred the great circle and holds space for the traveller
The scales of time always weigh true for the honest soul
And today shall pass as tomorrow will too, yet he is ageless
History is only remembered when catalogued, written, recorded
His text has been kept from the beginning, with the dawning
When water and sunlight caressed the first seed, coaxing life
How the forests emerged, multiplied, and flourished
Of every acorns size, hours of sunlight and inches of rain
Tiny births and deaths in every realm, all in the eternal circle
Always watching with knowing eyes, the cycle of nature continues
His conscious can be found within the leaves and the seeds
A journeyman with infinite knowledge, of oaks and alders
Follow and listen if he speaks, and especially if he reads
Give pause, have notice, take heed of the tales of the past
For they give guidance to the pathways of our future
And when he gives pause to his tales and bids farewell
Never fret for his comfort is always found in the trees
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Ralph (of the Wood)
Ah, yes, gypsy scribe
there aren’t many
who know the tribe
but I am One of the few
whose connection is true …. to the drum circle I go
everything comes together,
with rythym , we grow.
The Humans need to Remember….
the peace in the Woods
and that which is Good.
Thank You for Being,
and the work you’re doing.
Wonderful writing