Scarecrow

Reaping from what’s been sown, 

I eat the fruit of loneliness; abandonment

my only asset. Left to stand in the rain, 

rooted in solitude, torn by the wind which 

whips my pleas into the whitewashed welkin, 

clothed only in the rags of disrespect and 

condemnation, my vestments mirroring the 

vitriol of my accusers. I am judged for ineffectively 

managing my role - keeping my field clear 

of crows. But at least they keep me company.

MDC

Dec 2020