Autumn
by Ginger Strivelli
Jack-in-the-Green isn't looking so green anymore
He's turning gold, and crimson, and orange, and what's more,
His leaves are falling away like the gray hair of a little old man,
Falling ever faster as the west wind does blow like a fan,
Only His hair is bright in His old age,
He is a silent but merry and colorful old sage.
His whiskers are turning pumpkin with a hint of squash, and a bit of apple.
But He's still the Green Man God to all Pagan people.
He'll be bare headed soon to welcome His brother, Jack Frost.
Who will be returning again, He was never lost,
So Jack-in-the-Green sits on His throne with His green all but gone, Laughing at His own miscolored leaves and smiling on,
For He knows He'll be all the greener when old Jack Frost runs off again in the spring.
And 'wearing o' the green' will be the song His happy worshippers will again sing.
