The Scarecrow Dreams
by Ljubo Popovich
Like a woolgathering ghost Ruminating crows flick his hat brim, Across his desolate demesne A grackle shivers dewdrops Toads come out to stargaze, Owls rustle in the amniotic dusk, The muted air is tinctured The soft cacophony of traffic fades, Beyond the scintillating trees Their faces briefly glisten, His hayloft belly expands |
Copyright © 2018 by Ljubo Popovich