My name is Shelley Scarecrow, I'm a trifle worse for wear,
There's mud upon my brick red shirt, mouse droppings in my hair.
I once stood tall and splendid, the guardian of the garden,
I'd scare those crows like billy-o with no 'I beg your pardon.'
See, the lovely folk who made me ,stuffed me full of stalky straw,
Gave me patched-up khaki britches, quite the best you ever saw.
They had a lass to help them, such a sweetie, name of Keilah;
She helped me put my face on, what a bonzer little sheila!
A green and pink and yellow hat atop my locks of gold
And a pair of stretchy braces, shiny buckles bright and bold.
A wooden spine of garden stakes, as strong as any horse -
Oh, yes, I was a beauty; That's as scarecrows go of course.
All that season I stood proudly and I kept the birds at bay,
With my scarecrow arms outstretching and my tufty hair of hay.
I kept safe the rustling sweet-corn and the snowy cauliflower,
All the lettuce and the peas and beans - it was my finest hour.
Then the winter came upon me; howling winds and pelting rain
Undid stitches in my britches, gave me pain in my straw brain.
'Twas an easterly that felled me, with a sudden kind of thud;
I was toppled from my perch and lay forlornly in the mud.
Then the garden started stirring with the early signs of spring,
I could hear those wee lambs baaing, baby birds were on the wing,
And my people came to save me, cleaned me up and clothed me well,
Found my saggy bits and 'freshed 'em, once again my chest did swell.
I perch up on my post again, I cast a beady eye
On any kind of critter even looks like he might fly,
Cos Shelley's on the job again, it's just what I expected -
I'll give those bloody crows a scare now I've been resurrected.
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