my scarecrow

For I was born of straw and string
and lots of yesterdays leftover things
of clothes to big and bundled in
that was once loved thrown in the bin

the want of bare austerity
to watch and starve while others feed
to believe and not achieve
to stand where others would not be

but I stood tall first in my field
to protect this years vital yield
staunchly gain'st the storms that blew
and economic subterfuge

my shouts were silenced by the wind
the crows that circle then descend
limbs so stiffened by the frost
legs and arms like wooden posts

a hermit in the open airs
commune with nature in a sward of ears
a crucifix in a field of wheat
the scary face of self belief

the field mouse and the vole came by
but like false friends they did not stay
ticked me with their whiskers long
twice bitten and my laugh soon gone

autumns harvest brings the reapers dust
and stand where once the seed was cast
a single minded sort of chap
standing in a field of chaff

to contemplate and be brain dead
to visualize with eyes plucked out your head
and know that natures living word
my scarecrow seen but never heard