When I was young I knew a man made of straw but never once did he enter my street door.
As much as I wanted him too Mother would say "No" because he was only a stuffed Scarecrow.
He lived in a field just down the lane and the way he was treated was such a shame.
He stood in that field through rain and shine with no way of knowing the day or the time.
When the sun came out there was a smile on his face but when it rained he looked a total disgrace.
His head would bow and his hat would fall, it never fitted him anyhow it was much to small.
Over the field I would run and place it back on his head, then when I got home Mother always saw red.
My muddy boots she would make me clean because she knew exactly where I had been.
For years that Scarecrow stood in that field watching and waiting for the harvest to yield.
As I grew older I began to understand that this poor old Scarecrow was doing something grand.
He kept the crows from stealing the seeds that grew into a harvest for the farmers needs.
