Green

That I could make it back to my green age when, with my green wood sword, the world my stage, green legs taking green groin to Camelot to challenge the Green Knight, fight Lancelot, debating as I walked the fancy trail: would I choose Guinevere or Holy Grail… but, in a cyclone, words from the old toad have hurled me headlong on Yellow Brick Road; there, though I made it big in Emerald City, the day I broke my glasses, oh not pretty, no choice, I had to join the scarecrow band with nothing left for me but yellow sand; the moon no longer made of good green cheese, the jealous green was decay, death, disease… the sea, the greenery, fair face loving ilk has taught me but to hope to wear green silk.