There lies within
A hidden glen
An altar made of stone.
Creeping vine
And moss entwine
To hide this ancient throne.
Tangled thorn
Grows thick to scorn
Those who seek to enter.
For though they strive
No man alive
Shall ever reach its center.
Known as Pan,
To some Green Man,
This glen is his sacred place.
He dons his hood
Of wildwood
To hide his leafy face.
The roving clans
That raped the lands,
Cut down his beloved trees.
And so, alas
As time did pass
The Green God fell to his knees.
He retreated then
To his sacred glen
Where he once was so revered.
Weaving magick round
To protect his ground
From Man that he now feared.
His ancient groves
Were felled in droves,
His kingdom rent asunder.
The Mother Earth
Which gave them birth
Was taken by Man to plunder.
The ages past
And now at last
Man sees his fateful err.
His land is spoiled.
His water soiled.
He breathes in tainted air.
There's no surprise
In Green Man's eyes
To see Man's desperation.
The Mother scarred
By their disregard,
Still weeps for all Creation.
In dire straits
Man now awaits
The Green God's intervention.
They know the worth
Of Mother Earth
And pray for her ascension.
Forgiving Man,
He heals the land.
The water again tastes sweet.
And now the clan
Of humbled Man
Gather round the Green God's feet.
The altar within
The sacred glen
Stands to remind us of our past.
Nature's throne
He reclaims for his own.
Green Man's time has come at last.

... Moone

Copyright © Dwareniel Moone