The Green Man of Wyndmoor, Pa.

Please note: Drinking Raid will not protect you from Murder Hornets.

The Green Man of Wyndmoor By Hrothgar B. Legendary Neighbors out for a walk Spy his boots in the shade... They point and they talk ...and sometimes they're afraid. 'Tis the Green Man of Wyndmoor! He lies by our drive But don't poke his shins, for I think he's...alive. The Green Man of old Dwelled in the deep wood Clad in green, as is told Of brave Robin-a-Hoode. Now in Wyndmoor he dwells On the Herringbone farm 'Tween Erdenheim's dells And Oreland's mild charm. Do the storms heed his call? Does he order the winds? Does he make the beans tall? Is he nice to his friends? Do the worms do his bidding? Do the wrens sing his tune? Does he rise and go flitting In the dark of the moon? Does he stalk through your garden And bless the potatoes? Does he act as deer warden And save your tomatoes? Does he come in the night To the folks who think scorn Bid the deer take a bite Till their garden's all shorn? Is this rhyme silly stuff? Is the Green Man a joke? I dare those who scoff Go give Green Man a poke. (Thanks to Sara Dougherty for the reprinting of this fine poem by the forgotten bard Hrothgar B. Legendary. She claims she found it in an ancient, mouldering tome.)

Bring on the green! The greenness, how it flows Through seed and stalk and vein It eats the Sun and grows... The willow and the rose And greenly swells the grain. The greenness drinks the rain It slurps it up with glee And spurts it through each vein All green things to sustain: Each herb, each grass, each tree.

The Green man of Wyndmoor is alive and well... just saying :)