The Green Man stares
with his blank lidded eyes
His mouth twisted
To snarl profanities
Trapped and ignored
He sits high on the walls
Of a dusty, forgotten church
That molders away
And from memory falls
Religion old and religion new
The Green Man and the Cross
Ignored now by all but a few
Trapped in stone as a reminder
Of forest glade and fecundity
Of a cycle of life and passing
With the pierced undying god
That the Cross represents
Only He remains alone
The stonemasons’ small jest