Scarecrow

I stand my ground, both day and night,
Within this field of grain.
My job, to scare the birds away;
With little thanks and zero pay;
In sunshine and in rain.

Most people pass and pay no mind;
A few will cast a glance.
And fewer still may point and smile,
Amused by my sartorial style
Or by my stolid stance.

Yet, I can have great fun sometimes,
For I can dance, you know.
The breeze will come and take my hand;
I'll cut a rug right where I stand,
And put on quite a show.

But then, when harvest time is here,
I know I face the sack.
The farmer will toss me aside,
Or maybe send me on that ride
From which there's no way back!

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Copyright © Robert Haigh 2012