ODE TO A SCARECROW
Right here he hovers over this petite field of gold.
Just hanging around trying to do what he's told.
Making him frail the sun's rays do pound.
Trying to keep calm and not make a sound.
Swinging and thrashing at whatever he sees.
He knows of no other way, this must be him.
From deep in the sky they plan their assault.
They choose to pick him, it wasn't his fault.
Upon this stake he dangles deep within the land.
On top of his shoulders so smugly they stand.
From what he dreads he can't run, hide or flee.
Slowly they peck away his life from him.
Toward him they glide many of them swarm.
Stealing from him pieces they have torn.
They carry him off to his new place in life.
To a place where there's no pain, grief or strife.
All across this land is what now he calls home.
Free to move about and enjoy when he roams.
He's now part of this nation no need to ever mourn.
Now his world is vast not just a petty field of corn.