I am a scarecrow.
I watch the clouds
glide across the sky
to and fro
as the winds blow.
Rooks and crows
slide across the sky;
they fear me-
why?
being but paille and chapperal.
My head a sack of straw
the crows, oh ho,
cry cawcaw, cawcaw
that's the only
song they seem to know.
My hat, a sunflower.
Seeds of the standing weeds
take their rest
in its nest
and sprout and root and grow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
And yet you write and feel and compose so well that it is obvious that you are not made of straw. Read mine - We the Unencumbered - Tell me it is not too complicated that one cannot understand it. Adeline