The straw man guards a golden field, <br />His eyes are empty, like its head, <br />A golden heart shines in his chest. Whose hand <br />had put this golden heart into his chest? <br />Can this heart put his body into motion? <br />This is what the crow is thinking about, and only the wind knows <br />the whole truth, that the girl with the golden hair <br />sat at the feet of the straw man, <br />waiting for the fairy to promise her <br />that she shall provide a heart for the straw man. <br />Like a man made of flesh and blood, <br />he loves it when the wind fondles his face, <br />and even more when the girl with the golden hair <br />is sewing a green shirt made of grass leaves, <br />so that someone might love him too; <br />When the sky darkens, <br />when the dark clouds come down like a led curtain <br />(to bring our story to an end) the straw man <br />is standing alone in the golden field, waiting for his death. <br />He opens his mouth, but all that comes out of it is silence... <br />treacherous silence. <br />I cannot hear him, I don't know his thoughts, <br />(after all, how can an empty head bear a thought?) , <br />but I know for certain that he can feel, and I know what he feels, <br />I know what he wants: <br />For me to take him away <br />into distant golden deserts, <br />where the sun is eternally warming; <br />Where there are no crows to pick his eyes, <br />where there is no thunder and lightning, just the golden sun <br />and the girl with the golden hair. It is late <br />(I cannot save him, being just a poet outside the story) , <br />the fireball is coming down from the sky <br />to burn the straw man.<br /><br />Walter William Safar<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/straw-man/
