Train, you might think they were real

Farmhands standing there frozen

On those sloping fields - but then,

When you resume your reading,

Re-run images reveal

The single, wooden, central

Leg they`re stalked on; and the hand-

Less, flapping sleeves of their coats.

Warnings from black-feathered throats

Tell much of men: in control,

Even when miles from their land.

It only takes a worn out

Coat on two crossed poles to scare

The life out of hungry crows:

The fact that there are none shows

That merely our shape must shout

How awesome we really are.

(If there is a God, and we

Are made in his own image -

What are we supposed to scare

Simply by our being here?)

Tailored trees of Cavalry

They Stand, in their mime of rage.

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