The Scarecrow

The Scarecrow

The scarecrow stands,
blank stare.
Nothing like the one
from the movie.
He doesn’t sing,
or dance.
Guarding and empty field
he waits alone.
The field, once alive,
is now dead.
The farmer tends the crops
no more.
She left him to guard alone.
He watches over a field of
dead dreams.
Years now he has waited,
tattered and worn,
for the crops to return.
He will be ready.

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