The Scarecrow

The wind tousled his hair 

over the tops of the corn,

perched on a long branch

planted deep in the ground,

bending without breaking.

He was a tall man, a straw man,

a fallacy of argument that was 

remarkably apt (to his great shame).

A scarecrow, friend of black birds,

confidant of disparaged creatures,

character too much like kindling,

the spark of love dwindling...

hung, undone, and unsung.

***