The Scarecrow
The raven knows, listen to his soundings warning,
Beware and listen to what he says, harken unto this
Messenger of death for he sees all things, be it dark or light!
Black ebonies feathered sentinel, warily watching, as
The dusk approaches, the raven knows the secrets hidden
Beneath the nights convicted shroud, listen to his crowing’s
Warning beware of he the suspended straw man, the scare crow!
A patch work quilt is he sown stitch by stitch, by needles of experience,
In every seams thread, pulled together ever so tightly,
A bag of rags stuffing is this lifeless figure, the devil is in the detail!
Arms and legs attached to a torso, sown is he to a fine
Stitches thimble point, to mimic humanity!
Mr. Scare Crow and yet he has no feet why?
What an odd curiosity is he, hanging their nailed to a poll, in
The middle of the corn field alone!
Maybe it was left out just by mistake, or for some superstitious purpose?
Poor rounded headed fellow, full of downs refuge and leftover material.
A tanned burlap sack head, with a smiles frown turned upside
Down, cold dark eyes without reflections sheen,
Finishes off the last of this seamstress's handiwork and labor!
Guts of dried hay and straw, are shoved inside this soulless creation,
The scarecrow, whom is this being meant to frighten, wings to the flight
The raven knows?
Be comforted my friend he's just a straw figure, watching over his
Sacred grounds of golden yellow, nothing more, nothing less?
But as the long shadows of night fall, the empty corn field
Takes on an ominous foreboding feeling, as if an evil force
Has taken hold of this property of greenery!
The foolish man dares to enter this maze of cut lines,
This man made labyrinth of lost souls, for once
Inside the door of retreat closes behind thee, and
The care taker is obliged to walk and protect!
Without structures bones, no spirit of life,
How can this deadened bag of rags move, it’s just
An old folklore's tail, to frighten little children!
Yet you’ve lost your way, and the feeling of being
Watched looms heavily over your shoulder,
Wait did you hear a sound of something braking,
No it’s only your imagination going hay wiring!
But in the stillness and the silence of the night
Something is coming closer you can sense it,
Your heart beat begins to race out of control,
Beware for the guardian of the fields has been
Alerted, and the crow caws run, human run,
And don’t look back!
For the scare crow nail remains bent,
And an empty pole now stands alone,
Without its prisoner of straw!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Copyright © Cherl Dunn | Year Posted 2015
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