The Green Man
acorns and leaves
make up his mind too
as foliage entwines ours
like bridges,
like walkways,
camouflaged in an
every-day of solitude;
these berries may not last;
his thought runs deeper
- deities of the core,
the spirits would say -
to old log fires
by weathered stone,
you, his old flame, share
but only when you think
we're thirsty, that is
Copyright © Clive Culverhouse | Year Posted 2023
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