He waves at the flocking birds,
At the man walking by—
This scarecrow, as he works for others, with a smile
A year of bounty, or a famine year,
Take a walk along the paddy dikes—
Mine, yours—
See the field, the autumn wind?
Not a sole possession, yet I, too, a smiling scarecrow
Is what they say I am,
But clear my mind, spread my two arms wide, and
Everything, even the sky—all just a single step away