A Second Glance
Kurt F. Svatek
The night is
clear
yet there is
no star sparkling.
A scarecrow
stands tilted sideward,
wrapped in a
soldiers coat,
and suddenly
frightens
the wayfarer
whose eyes
reflect restlessness.
And the
little crow
that was
crying out
as loud as it
possibly could,
is now
sitting at ease
on the
scarecrow’s hut, a rusty metal pot.
This eben
makes the wayfarer
to breathe a
sigh of relief.