“The First Green Thing” an Easter poem with Analysis by Dr. G.E. Mini of Ayai University

"The First Green Thing"
Originally written and posted Good Friday,  April 2,  2010

The first green thing

I saw that spring

was not a hyssop sprig, 

not a trillium leaf along the trail,

nor the bourgeoning twig

of ivy on a crossed split rail.

No, before I’d seen a 

sign of things to come along the path,

I saw the green patina
of an artisan’s birdbath 
wrought in copper and bronze,
beautifully cast and crafted together 
and left to age as such responds
to air and time and weather.

It was meant for a garden, no doubt,
but was now cast off and left out
where wooded rains o'erflowed beneath
to its streaked and verdant stand.
The basin was a laurel wreath 
held high in a triumphant hand;
the base a sinnewed arm trapped
in the earth and further bound by a briar
that rose from the soil, wrapped
around the outstretched limb and higher

as if to draw the eye 

to things above and intertwine

the bowl's reflection of the sky

and laurel wreath in its thorny vine.

This overgrown and tarnished glory

seemed the preface to a story

told without a word...

and forever fixed in time.
For when my curious fingers stirred
the water, I felt the stagnant slime 
hid just below the rippling blue.
And wafting from a putrid maché

of blackened leaves and acorns split in two 
came the septic stench of sewage and decay,
this the incense offered by the brazen hand

that could not feel the thorns at all

or see that they were rooted near the stand

in the cold and rotting remnants of the fall.

© Copyright 2010, TK, Patterns of Ink

Press arrow on screen to hear the poem read.

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If I were a sculptor, I’d like to make a birdbath like the one I depict in this poem. It would begin with a strong arm cast in bronze that rises from the ground holding a laurel wreath as if it were being placed on the head of the person looking in the water’s reflection the basin of the birdbath.

Use of thorns: If natural thorns did not grow to ensnare my work, I would craft a vine of thorns to overtake the piece as happens in the poem so that, rather than man's praise around the onlooker's reflected head, he would see something more like a crown of thorns. 

Since ancient times, long before the time of Christ, the laurel wreath was the traditional prize for athletic victors. It was also worn by people in power like Caesar and members of the Roman Senate. Using a natural plant (laurel) to make a crown was a well-known practice in the time of Christ.

Since ancient times, long before the time of Christ, the laurel wreath was the traditional prize for athletic victors. It was also worn by people in power like Caesar and members of the Roman Senate. Using a natural plant to make a crown was a well-known practice in the time of Christ, which is why I think planting the crown of thorns on our Savior’s head was much more than a brutal act; it was meant to be a mockery. (As depicted in the 14th Century woodcarving below.) Little did the brutes know that the thorns, being a result and symbol of Eden's curse, only added to the full meaning of the cross. Romans 5:11-15 underscores this by connecting the sin of one man, Adam, with the reconciliation found in Christ who knew no sin yet took upon Himself the curse. "Cursed is He who hangs upon a tree." 

Just as the laurel wreath suggested honor, the crown of thorns was meant to be as shameful in meaning as it was painful to the brow, thus the poem’s imagery depicts thorns overtaking the wreath. 

Man’s image of himself is one of strength deserving the world’s praise and applause like the poem’s sinewy arm raised high in victory though bound to this earth. In truth, however, fallen man is worthy—not of praise—but of the thorns Christ wore on his behalf.

All around we see both beauty and brokenness. We are blessed to see God's creation but cursed to know it is not as it once was. In the still water of this imaginary birdbath, for instance, we briefly see the sky, but just an inch below its reflection is the stench of rotting leaves and seeds left over from the fall. This image is very real to me.

In our backyard, we have a birdbath and other small fountains, and often in the spring when I go to clean out all the junk that fell in them before winter, there is a smell much like the smell of sewage that comes from the decay in the shallow water. By then, whatever leaves gathered there are not colorful like the ones in the picture below but blackened and matted together. Those are maple leaves, but we also have huge oaks in our yard, and the squirrels break the acorns and drop them below to mix in with all the other rotting things.

This stench as a contrast to the Old Testament practice of the incense offering. Isaiah 64:6 reminds us that whatever we "offer" to God is akin to filthy rags and fallen leaves: “We are all infected and impure with sin. When we display our righteous deeds, they are nothing but filthy rags. Like autumn leaves, we wither and fall, and our sins sweep us away like the wind.”

“The cold and rotting remnants of the fall,” however, is not referring to the season of autumn but rather the fall of man. As beautiful as the reflection of the sky is, as wondrous as the hope of things to come may be, there is that decay of death just below the surface; there are those thorns strangling out the glory that was meant to be. 

There lies the beauty of spring that comes with Easter. The hyssop sprigs eventually show; the trillium begin to grow, and all the beauty that was Eden surrounds us in signs of life along the path. The first green things appeared in a perfect place, Eden, and likewise the green thing I saw in the poem, though of man’s making, "was meant for a garden, no doubt, but now cast off and left out." True, it was green, but the patina that comes from the oxidation of copper and bronze is a muted hue compared to the first green things of creation. And what were some of those green things mentioned?

The hyssop is native to eastern Mediterranean lands but was purposely brought to the western continents where it now flourishes. Along with the laurel, its meaning and many uses have been known since ancient times. Psalm 51:7 says, “Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean: wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.”

Hyssop is known for its cleansing power and ritual use. It is also aromatic—in the mint family. The Gospel of John says that it was on a long woody stem of hyssop that the soldier offered wine vinegar to Christ at his crucifixion when he said “I thirst.” I do not now why that detail is mentioned. It may have been additional mockery by those who had just pronounced him "King of the Jews," but regardless of the motive, the use of hyssop made a vivid link between the first Passover and the ultimate sacrificial moment in history.
.

The trillium grows across North America, it was popularly voted the state wild flower of Michigan (but Lansing overruled). It is known for its mathematical design of displaying three leaves, three sepals, and three petals, all of which have been used in Christian circles as a picture of the mystery of the Trinity—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—united in  purpose though distinct in personality. It is in the lily family (tri=three lily), a perennial that bursts from the ground and shows leaf each year around Easter (but typically blooms in late April and May). Sometimes called a "wake-robin," the trillium flower was used by Native Americans as an antiseptic.

Ivy is a non-deciduous evergreen plant. We typically think of Christmas trees and conifers as evergreens, but holly and ivy and many other plants remain green year-round; they do not lose their leaves in the fall and thereby show the continuity of life in spite of all that changes around them. Ivy survives the harsh winter and resumes its spreading, clinging coverage on stationary things in the spring and summer. We have some split rail fence covered in ivy in our yard, but I included it to evoke the image of hewn wood as is also true of the cross. 

Thus in the opening stanza, the brief mention of these green things—the hyssop, trillium, and ivy—(yet unseen along the path) foreshadow the significance of "the first green thing" I did see: the patina of the copper birdbath with its stench of the rotting leaves. The story may be "forever fixed in time," but it is corrected when time as we know it is no more. Ending as it does, the poem gives hope that, for those who believe, the green things foreshadowed in the beginning—cleansing hyssop, the covering ivy, and the symbolic trillium—will triumph over the remnants of the

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Note added in 2026 to this post from 2010.  

I have an understandable caution regarding A.I. and the creative arts and do not use A.I. in writing poems or posts here at Patterns of Ink (POI).

Having said that, I recently stumbled upon "Gemini" which is what Google calls there A.I. program (similar to ChatGPT). I was curious how A.I. would analyze my "...metaphors and meaning and enless patterns of ink..." (as statted in this blog's header). I was pleasantly surprised—flabbergasted actually—that a poem that took hours even days to write could be so thoughtfully dissected in thirty seconds. 

Whenever I post an A.I. analysis at POI, I will playfully frame it as if provided by by Dr. G.E. Mini (Google’s Gemini A.I.) I must admit, this professor is very observant and surprisingly open to the spiritual elements often hidden in my writings.

Analysis of Tom Kapanka’s “The First Green Thing” by Dr. G.E. Mini, Professor of Little-known Literature, Ayai University

Tom Kapanka’s “The First Green Thing” is a masterclass in the "spiritual bait-and-switch." On the surface, it reads like a contemplative nature walk; underneath, it is a visceral meditation on the theology of Good Friday and the hope of Easter. By masking a heavy theological discourse within the discovery of a discarded garden ornament, Kapanka forces the reader to confront the "septic stench" of the human condition before offering the "hyssop" of redemption.

1. The Irony of the "Green Thing"

The poem’s title and opening stanza play with the reader’s expectations of spring. In a traditional nature poem, the "first green thing" would be a sign of life—a bud or a sprout. However, Kapanka’s narrator bypasses the biological (hyssop, trillium, ivy) for the chemical: the green patina of an oxidation process.

• The Patina vs. Nature: The green of the birdbath is a "muted hue," a result of copper reacting to "air and time and weather." It is a symbol of man-made glory that is literally corroding.

• The "Not Yet": By listing the hyssop and trillium as things he hadn't seen yet, Kapanka sets a tone of anticipation. The world is still in its "Good Friday" state—cold, damp, and waiting for a resurrection that hasn't arrived.

2. The Sculpture of Human Pride

The birdbath itself is a complex allegory of the "Fall of Man." Kapanka uses the physical attributes of the bronze to map out a spiritual landscape:

• The Sinewed Arm: Represents human strength and the desire for self-exaltation. It is "held high," yet it is "trapped in the earth." This creates a powerful image of man’s dual nature: reaching for glory while being tethered to a fallen world.

• The Laurel Wreath: Historically a symbol of athletic or political victory (Caesar), here it serves as the basin. Kapanka’s notes reveal the irony: the viewer looks into the water to see themselves crowned with "man’s praise," only to have that image subverted by the encroaching briars.

• The Briars/Thorns: These are not mere garden weeds; they are the "result and symbol of Eden’s curse." They wrap around the arm and the wreath, transforming the "crown of victory" into a "crown of thorns."

3. The Sensory Reality of Sin

The poem takes a dark, almost Gothic turn in the third stanza. The "curious fingers" of the narrator stir the water, shifting the poem from a visual analysis to a sensory experience of decay.

• The Stagnant Slime: Underneath the "rippling blue" (which reflects the sky/heaven) lies the "putrid maché" of death.

• The Septic Stench: Kapanka uses the smell of rotting acorns and leaves to mirror Isaiah’s description of "filthy rags." This "incense" offered by the bronze hand is a mockery of holy offerings. It reminds the reader that beneath the surface of our "righteous deeds" and "beautifully cast" exteriors, there is the "septic" reality of sin.

• The Fall: The "cold and rotting remnants of the fall" is a clever double entendre. It refers to the literal autumn debris and the theological Fall of Adam.

4. Foreshadowing and Resolution

The poem concludes by circling back to the plants mentioned in the beginning. These are not just botanical details; they are the "antidote" to the birdbath’s decay:

While the birdbath is "forever fixed in time" and "cast off," the natural elements represent a story that is still moving toward a conclusion. The patina is a dead green, but the hyssop is a living one.

Final Thought

Kapanka suggests that we are all like that birdbath: beautifully crafted by an Artisan, yet tarnished, trapped by thorns, and filled with the "stagnant slime" of our own nature. The "First Green Thing" isn't the sign of our own improvement, but the recognition of our need for the "cleansing hyssop" that only the Easter story provides.

The following is a comparative analysis between this poem and a

the "Fall of Man” as depicted in Milton’s Paradise Lost.

Comparing Tom Kapanka’s modern, tactile "The First Green Thing" with John Milton’s epic 17th-century masterpiece Paradise Lost reveals a shared obsession with the moment perfection becomes "septic." While Kapanka looks at a birdbath and Milton looks at the cosmos, both find the same "stagnant slime" at the heart of the human story.

1. The Corruption of the Garden

In both works, the garden is the stage where beauty and brokenness collide.

• Milton’s Eden: In Paradise Lost, Eden is a place of "enormous bliss." However, the moment Eve eats the fruit, Milton describes Nature itself reacting: "Earth felt the wound, and Nature from her seat / Sighing through all her Works gave signs of woe."

• Kapanka’s Garden: Kapanka’s narrator finds a birdbath "meant for a garden... but now cast off." This mirrors the expulsion from Eden. The "septic stench" in the birdbath is the modern, localized version of Milton's universal "wound." Both authors suggest that once the "Fall" occurs, nature is no longer purely aesthetic—it is stained.

2. The Symbolism of Thorns: Victory vs. Curse

A central theme in both works is the subversion of natural beauty into a symbol of punishment.

Kapanka’s "sinewed arm" wrapped in briars is a physical manifestation of Milton's "Adam," who is now bound to a ground that no longer works for him, but against him.

3. The "Internal" Fall: Pride and Reflection

Both writers use the concept of a "reflection" to show how man views himself after losing perfection.

• The Mirror of the Water: In Kapanka’s poem, the birdbath is designed so the onlooker sees a "laurel wreath" on their reflected head. It is a trap of pride. But the narrator stirs the water and finds "stagnant slime."

• The Mirror of the Soul: In Milton, Adam and Eve’s first realization after the Fall is one of "nakedness" and shame. They no longer see the image of God in themselves, but rather their own "impurity."

• The "Sinewed Arm": Kapanka’s bronze arm represents the "brazen" pride of man—the same pride that led Milton’s Satan to rebel and Adam to disobey. Both authors emphasize that human strength is an illusion if it is "bound by a briar" to the earth.

4. The Hope of "The Second Adam"

The ultimate connection between the two is the foreshadowing of restoration.

Milton ends Paradise Lost with a "Promised Seed" who will eventually restore the "blissful Seat." Kapanka mirrors this by ending his poem with the hyssop and trillium. While the birdbath is "forever fixed in time" (representing the law and the curse), the living plants represent the "Spring that comes with Easter."

The Insight: Kapanka takes Milton’s grand, celestial theology and shrinks it down to the size of a backyard birdbath. He proves that the "septic stench of sewage and decay" is not just an ancient story—it’s something you can find in your own yard every spring.

Here is another Easter Poem form 2007:  "All Else"