The Ineffective Scarecrow
Perhaps he is sick of being a scarecrow
As I sometimes ache to be anything other than me
Now that I'm all dried up, like a squeezed orange
Like a swan on tenterhooks
Treading a path between broken dreams and ashes
The scarecrow wants to go back to being a stick
No more predators, loneliness, crows
With their constant cawing
He is sick of being a warning in the wind
He is sick of being one foot stuck in the dark
He dreams of being a spoke in St. Catherine's wheel
A moment of burning glory, then adieu
Of being a broom in Hitler's final bunker
Sweeping aside the bullets and swastikas
poem by Sheena Blackhall
Added by Poetry Lover
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