He wanders through the breathless
Battlefield of life .
The scarlet sun withdraws her spears
And night wraps his serene shawl
Around houses’ shoulders
Grand and poor.
He doesn’t yield for he believes
That when solemn autumn breaks
Summer’s painting brushes,
And winter cries,
sprightly spring comes by.
In the heart of the battlefield of life,
A lonely scarecrow,
Resting beneath the shade of a willow,
Is teaching dainty daffodils
That neither a ghastly smile as his
Nor a raging rifle as his master’s
Can take away what the divine
Hand has bestowed on a famished soul.
Written by arabian roses