I saw a Green Man fleetingly,
standing close by the farm shop barn.
The height of a tall hawthorn tree
and dappled by the rising sun.
In that bird song moment he stopped
(as early morning vapour cleared
to tangle in the bramble tops),
then looked my way and disappeared.
Not wistful at the summer's cease
the gentle closing of the year,
but smiling in a hat of leaves,
garlanded with rose-hip and sloe,
he vanished like a startled deer
or ermine on new winter snow.