Scarecrow Woman
       

I catch sight of her on a sea of wheat
Drifting past. Her blouse, jumper and skirt
Clamped to her bones with clothes-pegs,
Her face veiled in old straining-cloth,
A Sunday hat one side of her head,
Alone in the field with her secrets,
A black diamond stitched to her sleeve
To remind us of winter and her dead daughter.
Perched on a wooden leg on golden grain,
She sways to scare the crows away,
Drinks rain, breathes the wind,
A sprinkle of poppies ignites the ripples,
Her promise always, the gift of grain
And the hope of tomorrow.

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Copyright © 2011 Noel Monahan All rights reserved
from Curve of The Moon
Salmon Poetry
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission