Falling In Love With A Scarecrow


Edited. Original photo by John Carlin

Did you hear of the story of the woman who just would not?
The lies she sleeps upon,
like they are worthy to keep her warm.

The sinister hides in that gentle voice.
Oh, a handsome young boy he is,
I almost, also, did fall for his trickery.

But he,
the heart that never yearns for a queen,
wouldn’t place value in my temple of dreams.

But she, the woman insists to believe
that it’s my plain jealousy.
He comes to give her the comfort and the promise of eternity.
Only for her, he will change and stay.

She overtly pins, indicating to him,
even though
there is no surprise and no goodbye kiss.

The same story over and over too many time.
Departure, arrival, departure, departure.
A lie she wraps herself in, woven in sheep’s skin,
thoroughly through and true
in her ears.

No promises are given,
words are withheld.
his way of being.

She should have known.
A scarecrow with a heart of straw.
Initially so intimidated, she withdraws.

Circling, rounding things up.
Attractively enough, the edge on being devour.
Then, she perches on the hat.

Fearless. I’m fearless, he says.
She smiles, combing through his hair,
and bringing him close to her lips.

He trembles on the mention of a promise,
even without legs, he wouldn’t keep.
For the scarecrow is but with a heart of straw.

And I never hear of her anymore.


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