The Carver's hand, gnarled like the oak tree
tired with age, his wisdom a spirit sage.
In the blue and green dappled sun shade
the carpet of his workshop, he works his age old trade.
For he must serve Jack o' the Green, time spent in careful toil,
leaves spilling southward as he speaks, fertility leaping forth.
Trees born six centuries ago still hold his signature
his face set in stone, looks out across timeless land.
After the crops are reaped and livestock safely gathered
harvest is celebrated before first frost rings the moon.
Then, and only then, he may rest his weary head
returning to his winter sleep once more.
(NaPoWriMo 2011)
(With grateful thanks for picture kindly provided by Peter Wilkin)
Lovely May-day poem Abigail. Q x
ReplyDeletehooray for the green man that he rue the day bringing spring in his wake...
ReplyDeleteAh the ancient ones walk again for life to grow missed by those who fail to look
ReplyDeleteLovely. This is the type of poem I adore that connects nature to ourselves and the different seasons of the year/life. Beautiful.
ReplyDeleteAs spring comes as it inspires people's writing, nice shot for the theme.
ReplyDeleteI enjoy how peaceful this poem is, and I'm reminded of Tolkien (which is a good thing.) Excellent! :D
ReplyDeleteExcellent Abigail. The way you connect us with nature is beautiful. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteThankyou all for your lovely comments :)
ReplyDeleteI am really grateful you have taken the time to read and comment, as I am reading this poem aloud to people tomorrow. You have given me some confidence!
Abi