A strange flower from the sleeping forest.
Deep in sleep I am often a child
Observing through mirrors alternative worlds.
I see the Green Knight transform into a tree,
He dies into the beauty of Autumnal forests
As he dreams alone
Through the long cold nights
Of glittering frosts and frozen rivers.
The mistletoe ascending his new grown branches,
Weighs lighter than the leather reins
He once used to master his armour clad horses
As he forced them ruthlessly into battle
Through arrow storms that hid the sun.
But sudden wounds felled him when trees grew wise
And dragged him to earth as he rode between them
Planning to fight wars in ancient groves
Sacred to the hares and foxes.
Sacred to his hawks and horses
That roamed free once his grip was broken.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
27th. - 28th. - 30th. November 2021
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