What a scarecrow sees

Darkly white walls and brightling black thatch
Gloaming homestead a comely mismatch
A wife and man stand low in light clutch
Umbral fingers the scene to untouch
And so her moon doth silven wax

Coronal jet fabrics awash on the line
Dull shimmering stalks of wheat waving in time
The wind and the water together opposed
The softness of hardship; a secret exposed
And lo his sun doth golden grow

At dawn and at dusk a scarecrow knows best
That sleeping and working is tiresome rest
That drowning is to love breath
That living is to greet death
Whilst the horizon spins all ‘round

Prosthetic hand illustration

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