I remember you, gold flashing under the sky.
Wandering from the path, my small body crawling between vines.
You wore a garment woven from the Earth.
A living tapestry it was, moving with live flora.
Sunlight played upon your mask of burnished leaves as you lowered yourself to my eyes.
I lifted a finger, tracing it along your brow.
There among the trees, a mortal touched a Green Man of Old.
Read more of Michael’s writing at The Ink Owl