DECEMBERS ARTICLE OF THE MONTH 

Jack Frost, foul friend, you must awake,

And cast your breath across the lake,

And freeze the waters and the shores,

And make the good folk stay indoors.

You turn the ripe earth into stone,

Where all of last years crops were grown.

You'll dust the snow upon the earth

And blanket out the Yule time mirth.

The hunter, frozen to the marrow

Can't catch enough to feed a sparrow.

His feet fall hard on crunching frost

And tease him of the prey he's lost.

Despite his cunning skill and ardour,

There's nought but rats within his larder.

In empty fields still nothing grows,

Providing only food for crows.

Sun shine your light a little stronger;

Shine brighter for a little longer.

Jack Frost gets tireder by the day,

He's less inclined to come and play.

Until, come march, his weary head

Is calling him to go to bed.

The village people give up ham

And feast on veal and fresh spring lamb.

In the forest, drenched in dew,

A Green Man feels his life anew.

The springtime showers that gently fall

Revive him, wash him, grow him tall

He hears the songbirds call his rise,

¢??Springtime's here¢??, the cuckoo cries.

He builds a palace with no doors,

But leafy eaves and bluebell floors.

His work within the forest done,

He rides to town to have some fun.

And maidens dance and young men sing,

Rejoicing in the pleasant spring.

The Green Man gallops and, of course

He rides upon a hobbyhorse.

And round the town he takes his ease

By throwing blossom on the trees.

The strongest horses pull the plough.

The seed is sown. It's summer now.

A little sun, a little rain.

Green Man blows new life into grain.

The days are long the night is shorter.

There's bounteous light and ample water.

But now the longest days are past;

The hottest days are coming fast.

The water in the lake's drawn low.

The dykes and rivers cease to flow.

The villagers can't stand to toil

And many say the crops will spoil.

The cooler evenings, with their shade,

Are welcomed by each man and maid.

And muds, to which the lake gave soak,

Are crazed and cracked and dry and broke.

The green man feels his leaves turn yellow.

But Greeny is a clever fellow.

And to the clouds he gives a shout,

¢??You've water in, Please let it out!¢??

But clouds, a most exclusive kin,

Are angered by the Green Man's din.

Black anvil clouds begin to tower.

There's going to be a thundershower.

The lightning gives a mighty crack.

The stricken oak lies on his back.

And wind did not know what to do

So she just blew and blew and blew.

The gentlefolk lie in their beds.

Hide their faces, hide their heads.

There's water backing up the drain

The clouds have given too much rain.

But then the storm, swift come, swift parted,

Stopped. And then the farmers started

To inspect the damage wrought.

It's not as bad as they first thought.

Some crops were flattened, but there's plenty

So the barns would not be empty.

Green Man sat on fallen oak.

He planted toadstools, for a joke.

The harvesters took out their sickles

And cut the crops. Their wives made pickles,

Picked the fruit, made jams and jellies

To fill the townsfolk's' winter bellies.

The Green Man saw his work was finished,

Lay Down. His spirit now diminished.

Back to the woods his soul departed.

Home, to where his life was started.

In Green Man's Corpse no rot or maggots.

Just a pile of handy faggots.

The townsfolk built a sturdy pyre

And threw his carcass on the fire.

And in the dark of night they revelled.

Lest they find themselves bedevilled.

For magic fires give out a light

To keep away the ghouls of night.

Fresh food began to disappear,

But Hern the Hunter killed a deer

And said to all the folk, ¢??This beast

Will make for us a winter feast.

So decorate the town. A show

Of evergreen and mistletoe.¢??

And though the north wind blew no clemence,

Father Christmas made his presence

Ed Stonecliffe

December 2005

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