St. Mary’s Scarecrow Festival

A poem to celebrate
St. Mary’s Scarecrow Festival.
“ The Scarecrow” by Walter de la Mare

 

All winter through I bow my head
Beneath the driving rain;
The north wind powders me with snow
And blows me black again.
At midnight ‘neath a blaze of stars
I flame with glittering rime;
And stand above the stubble, stiff
As mail at morning prime.
But when that child called Spring
And all his children come
Scattering their buds and dew
Upon these acres of my home;
Some rapture in my rags awakes,
I lift void eyes and scan
The skies for crows, those ravening foes
Of my strange master, Man.
I watch him striding lank behind
His clashing team, and know
Soon will the wheat swish body high
Where once lay sterile snow.
Soon will I gaze across a sea
Of sun begotten grain;
Which my unflinching watch has sealed
For harvest once again.

 

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