The Little Man In Green

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'TWAS a little man in green,
  And he sat upon a stone;
  And he sat there all alone,
Whispering.

"One and two," so whispered he.
  ('Twas an ancient man and hoar)
  "One and two," and then no more--
Never, "Three".

Hawthorn trees were quick with May--
  "Sir," said I, "Good-day to you"!
  But he counted. "One and two"
In strange way.

Fool I was--oh, fool was I
  (Who should know the ways of them!)
  That I touched his cloak's green hem,
Passing by.

I was fey with spring and mirth--
  Speaking him without a thought--
  Now is joy a thing forgot
On the earth.

Ere the sweet thorn-buds were through,
  Wife and child doom-stricken lay,
  Cold as winter, white as spray--
"One and two!"

Now I seek eternally
  That grim Counter of the fen,
  Praying he may count again--
Counting, "Three".

© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay