The Scarecrow

The scarecrow stands out in the field

     A guardian of planted seed;

His hanging arms flap in the breeze,

     To which the pirate birds give heed.

All day he stands, in rain or shine,

     Wrong-doers awed beneath his spell;

The butt of passing city folk,

     But serves his purpose long and well.

Would, in the broader field of life,

     Where our most prized possessions be,

We could as easily protect

     Them from the common enemy.

If only we could plant for aye

     A scarecrow, grim and ludicrous,

To keep all robber hands at bay,

     Life would be passing fair for us!

June 26, ‘13