The Tree Man

The Tree Man

Is there really a man who lives in a tree,

Watching, maybe looking at you and me?

Is it all just made up in my head,

Like a monster that sleeps under my bed?

Is there really a man, green like leaves?

Surely there’s no one who in this believes.

He is so tall, he touches the skies of blue,

Has he got a face like me and you?

Yes, there is; he is the Green Man, so very real.

In quiet forests you can sense what you feel.

Not a monster hiding where shadows lie,

More a whisper of earth and open sky.

They say his face is carved in bark and stone,

In ancient churches where ivy has grown.

Leaves for hair and vines for a beard,

A watchful presence, calm and revered.

When the wind moves softly through the trees,

It carries his breath on the evening breeze.

He is not there to frighten or to spy,

He stands for life that does not die.

For every bud that breaks through ground,

For every root that twists around,

For forests deep and branches wide,

He is the spirit living inside.

So when you walk where the old oaks stand,

And feel cool shade across your hand,

Perhaps that man of leaf and tree

Is simply nature, wild and free.

It’s called Tree Man, that tale so old,

Of green and bark and hearts so bold.

And what I feel is calm, not fear,

As if the earth itself is near.

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