Letters of the Green Man


Green wizard

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

Green man

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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