The lonely scarecrow

He wanders through the breathless

Battlefield of  life  .

Above him,

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

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