by Shawn Bailey

Created on: October 10, 2010

The Scarecrows dance and

the Scarecrows twist

an age-old jig known only to them,

and with a jubilant thrust

and a flick of the wrist

wave their crispy arms skyward

made of corn husk and limb.

They playfully sneak from hither and thither

and play hide and seek with Old Man Winter.

Their burlap mouths

stitched carelessly so

speak a fluent dialect

of the language of Crow.

They conversate with crows

explaining away,

and apologizing for,

what they do everyday.

Then they all come together

in the center of the field

and talk of old times

with a Yuletide zeal.

The snowflakes gently drift

amidst the dried and jagged stalks

and with the reaping far behind

they hold their Scarecrow talks.

And when they hear the farmer's truck

approaching with a clatter

the December soil

crunches as they scatter.

The farmer looks across his field

and smiles with country charm

at the Scarecrow, Christlike,

with a crow upon its arm.

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