Scarecrow of the Long Field

Long black toes twisty
sticking into slippy mud,
gripping it vice tight,
dawn till last light,
sun shines, seeds grow,
soaky bone rain flow,
reeling and rocking now
chilly north wind blow.

I am the scarecrow,
watcher of the corn in the long field.
The earthworms know my feet.

Blacky crow claw grip,
tatty ratty frame-stick,
six digging in now,
three on each arm now,
one on my floppy hat,
picked flat, fancy that,
dirty dark wings flap,
clicky dry twigs snap.

I am the scarecrow,
watcher of the corn in the long field.
Soon I will fly away.

Here we go now, crow,
far above the hedgerow,
swooping like bats now
over clover brown cow,
wind whipping sack face,
pumpkin head pulse race,
look at you down there
sleeping with dog cares.

I am the scarecrow,
watcher of the corn in the long field.
I left my god behind.

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