0 - The Fool

O Fool, O Green Man
bursting-in and blundering,
a tiger attached to your ankle like a ball and chain,
all your drinking and singing is wearing, 
all that bawling, that feckless energy
is unwarranted in winter -
can't you be quiet?
Dull-down to a low slow burn
like your cousin over there
the Wooded Man, the Man of Straw
with the long hair and lichen eyes,
the speckled birds' eggs in his hands -
your furore is too much
too obvious, too overdone -
all this raw enthusiam -
you'll scare the butterflies -
go crush your grapes, be quiet.
Just wait till Summer, then you'll be done,
burnt out for one so young,
replaced by an older man with
more savoir-faire.
Go get your crocodile under your arm,
croak, go home, come back next year.
See now what you've done - 
you've scared the doves, they've
The Book of The Scribe
Return to Collections all
next poem