The Scarecrow

                                       Out in the cornfield,

                                         standing all alone,

                                a torn and tattered scarecrow,

                                        sad without a home.

                                   Through the summer heat

                                        and the chill of fall,

                              all day long and through the night,

                                      scarecrow’s seen it all.

                                        In the wind and rain,

                                        in the autumn frost,

                                    trying to keep crows away

                                          or the crop is lost.

                                          What a lonely job,

                                       dressed in his old rags;

                                  stuffed all full of itchy straw

                                           in a suit that sags.

                                          Wish I could invite

                                       Mister Scarecrow home,

                                    make him warm, comfortable

                                             so he’s not alone.