A Scarecrow Villanelle

Public Domain

A broomstick spine but, hey, what’s more,

a man of straw, fanned fingers, flame,

as stubble burns with billow smoke.

His fate was embers, ash for sure,

when crows went elsewhere, lost his name -

a broomstick spine but, hey, what’s more?

As firestorm roared he knew the score,

his claim to fame now lost in shame,

as stubble burns with billow smoke.

Those early martyrs burned in gore

both maimed and framed - for truths laid blame,

a broomstick spine but, hey, what’s more?

A skull would soon loll on the floor,

his frame lie tamed - aim, purpose lame,

as stubble burns with billow smoke.

A man of straw, fanned fingers, raw,

on martyrdom their stake was claimed,

a broomstick spine but, hey, what’s more

as stubble burns with billow smoke?

Published by Fevers of the Mind