Blood of the Scarecrow

Posted on August 5, 2011

Blood of the Scarecrow

She tills the fields of regret
As a whisper of a woman scorned.
Thoughts grown she’d rather forget
Of love’s ambition never born.
No reciprocation of her toil.
The man would not give willingly.
Blood stains saturated the soil
As his heart was taken literally.
Carving pumpkins into his chest
To keep the piece she wanted most.
The rotting shell, a scarecrow at best,
Dangling lifelessly upon his post,
Thus frightening off the feelings denied.
So question how does this garden grow
When all happiness has withered and died?
When planting only seeds of sorrow
Weeds and worries are all that will bloom.
Stalks the mind, high in the garden’s rows.
This harvest reaped, once sown way too soon,
Ripened in the blood of the scarecrow.


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One response to “Blood of the Scarecrow”

  1. In the 7th line, I found myself wondering if you left out "the" would it be better. Alliteration would be better, perhaps.

    QuoteBlood stains saturated soil

    Same -perhaps?- in line 13. Just a thought…

    QuoteThus frightening off feelings denied.

    line 17: maybe leave out "will"  ??

    QuoteWeeds and worries are all that bloom.

    or even:

    QuoteWeeds and worries all that bloom.

    Not a criticism by any means, just a thought. Thunk. You know, one of those brain algorhythm thingies that gets us into trubble…

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