Scarecrow
(June 1971)
Erect upon the simple frame
of my wooden cross,
I exist,
the epitome of things discarded;
clothes
green with the repeated questionings
of mist and hail
hat
bleached by the sun's laughter,
boots
weary from spud-picking muddy fields.
Veteran of never-ending wars,
propped between ploughed field
and cloud-furrowed sky,
my thoughts are straw.
Copyright © Bernard Gilhooly - All Rights Reserved
Erect upon the simple frame
of my wooden cross,
I exist,
the epitome of things discarded;
clothes
green with the repeated questionings
of mist and hail
hat
bleached by the sun's laughter,
boots
weary from spud-picking muddy fields.
Veteran of never-ending wars,
propped between ploughed field
and cloud-furrowed sky,
my thoughts are straw.
Copyright © Bernard Gilhooly - All Rights Reserved