Sonnet #42 – on the Greenman

Sonnet #42 on the Greenman

He hides among the stories past, but now
he has no name, with stonied face he laughs
or scowls, or smiles, or frowns, or cries. Who knows
what mood is carved by ancient cunning crafts?

The wintered face of death after the fall
The brambled, twisted, tortured crown of thorns
will gently resurrect at springtime’s call
with vestal bud and festive flowered horns
but then from jamb post lustily explodes
From foliate frieze the summer greens wrap round
and high above the narthex harvest loads
his juicy fruits upon the stirring crowd

he has no name and yet he wears the crown
of life and death and birth upon his brow

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s