All winter through I bow my head
beneath the driving rain;
the North Wind powders me with snow
and blows me black again;
at midnight 'neath a maze of stars
I flame with glittering rime,
and stand above the stubble, stiff
as mail at morning-prime.
But when that child called Spring, and all
his host of children come,
scattering their buds and dew upon
these acres of my home,
some rapture in my rags awakes;
I lift void eyes and scan
the sky for crows, those ravening foes,
of my strange master, Man.
I watch him striding lank behind
his clashing team, and know
soon will the wheat swish body high
where once lay a sterile snow;
soon I shall gaze across a sea
of sun-begotten grain,
which my unflinching watch hath sealed
for harvest once again.
The Scarecrow
Walter De La Mare
(7)
Poem topics: child, children, home, rain, sea, sky, spring, sun, wind, winter, head, rapture, morning, flame, master, stand, black, high, prime, gaze, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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Sandy Bainbridge: This wonderful poem takes me back to being an 11 year old and winning a poetry reading competition at school. Memories come back so clear as I'm now over 60 and actually writing my Memoirs and including The Scarecrow.
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