The Scarecrow At Dusk

he scares no one, nothing
and that is perhaps why
his painted smile

in a certain light 
looks wryly on the landscape
where the crows gather

the glitter of the moonlight
into calculating eyes.

prince of the cornfields
could he be
in dreams oh what a surpise

and lift his arms toward God
but they flop down
when the wind is still

and everything laughs then.
someday he may fly off
the stake which is driven into the ground

aloft among clouds
and tumbling home.
and lose his fadedness and then

set out to win the princess
but for now
his crooked grin grows

tear streaked in the rains
knowing he must remain.

mary angela douglas 24 january 2017