Of all the women of the fields –
full skirt, small wasit –
the scarecrow is the best dressed.
She has an air about her
which more than makes up
for her loss of face.
There is nothing between us.
If I take her arm
there is nowhere to go.
We are alone and strollers
of a fine day with
under us the earth’s fathoms waiting.
by R. S. Thomas
from Later Poems (1983)