Scarecrows Wisdom Poem by Mervyn Graham

In the the quiet fields, where whispers roam,
Stands a sentinel without a home.
A scarecrow, tall, in tattered cloak,
Guardian of the cornstalks broke.

With arms outstretched, to sky he yearns,
Yet rooted firm, his lesson learns.
In stillness, he speaks a silent tongue,
A wisdom deep, from whence he's sprung.

'O travelers passing by my post,
What do you seek? What do you boast?
In quiet fields, where dreams take flight,
I stand alone, in shadowed light.'

His eyes, though straw, hold mysteries old,
Of stories whispered, of truths untold.
In every stitch upon his frame,
Echoes the voice of wind, the cry of fame.

'Am I but straw and sackcloth, mere,
Or spirit bound, in guise austere?
In every rustle of my guise,
Resides the truth, beneath the skies.'

For he's not just a scarecrow, frail,
But emblem of a timeless tale,
Of souls adrift, in search of grace,
Amidst life's maze, in every place.

So, heed him well, this figure still,
On fields of gold, 'neath twilight's thrill.
For in his form, a lesson clear,
To find oneself, one must draw near.

Mervyn Graham (cc 2024)