Hand Me Down to die

[billy]

i never saw version 1

so i can't say if the edit's any good :J: (when you edit just tack it on to the original in the 1st and last post)

foolishly i read other feedback but unlike them i took the bugger literally i read the poem from the point of view of the scarecrow with an anthropomorphic slant. it starts off very warm and ends with a poe like coldness.
there were a couple of nits but it still reads great as it stands.

thanks for the read.

yes... after a few more reads i see the scarecrow as an entity, you gave it life.

Version 2

In Mom’s frayed wool pants,
I sweltered this summer.
The red flannel shirt
from Dad was no better.

I’m dead-head to head
with bronzing sunflowers,
wearing my Grandpa’s
tattered Fedora.

With Harvest over,
starved hoarfrost nips harder.
Stiff neck's scarcely cloaked
by Sissy’s torn muffler. the whole image of this stanza is almost beautiful

Pitied daylilies
when the bees droned their ears is 'the' needed? and the answer is yes it is, in order to keep the meter going, so disregard the question
recalling abuse
through this lingering year:

Rabble of magpies
pinched my fancy buttons.
Rowdy masked bandits
struck in veil of darkness.

Relentless sparrows,
cruelling tore away threads, cruelling isn't a word i've heard before, though i do like the sound of it. that said, i can't make this line work
not seeking consent
before lining their nests.

Deer gnawed needlessly
at my hat made of hemp.
Voles carted away
the dry husks of my flesh. another cracker

All faith in me lost,
with my chores forsaken,
yet everyone knew
that crows would not frighten. great ending all i can say is a fuckin loved it.