The Scarecrows of October…
October wind ‘tis cold my friend, as sun lays low and casts shadows upon the face of old scarecrow.
As wind of north blows cloud’s contorts ‘cross amber sky’s horizon, the gallop taunts of cloud filled haunts bait fears in full moon’s rising.
The straw packed clothes blow to and fro, as sun now low cast long shadows, n’ breeze gives life to corn cob pipe in nod and wink from coal as eyes.
Fields now bare left corn husk hairs like brush strokes on a canvas, while sentry’s post of old scarecrow assumes to be enchanted.
Yea shadowed ghost that hangs on post did keep those crows from stealing, deceiving birds of prey for days during season of reseeding.
He stares like stone from sticks of bones and looks as if the wind has blown his tattered clothes upon his throne in tears and rips beyond his knowing.
As wind shakes post the scarecrow’s ghost refrains from threats that boast, no life in host of straw filled coat or breath in lungs for whistled songs that keep thy birds from roost.