This raggedy old man has no brain, he stands in the sun or in the rain.
His clothes are tattered and the colors vary. He is made to scare birds, they don't tarry.
His arms are straight with fingers pointing down. He watches the garden not making a sound.
You hardly ever see one that is really fat, a pipe in his mouth, and he's wearing a hat.
Made of straw with stuffing inside, baggy old clothes to make him wide.
One leg propped on the other knee, his job is to make birds want to flee.
Who is this man we named scarecrow? He is a country man we all know.
He stands on guard and never gets tired, his pay is zero, no chance of getting fired.
The birds doesn't know he isn't really real, he is just the garden guardian of the field.
Pauline Lieck
8 comments:
really cute. and very unscary. :)
LOVE your poem. BUT particularly love your description of the scarecrow as 'garden guardian of the field.'
Very good poem!
That is a cool poem and I like your picture.
There is always a special feel to a real 'Paula Poem', Love it and it is so down home...
Love from here.
Love it! Very cool beans...
Hugs! You're so sweet. Love your poem. So glad your hubby passed his stress test....and love that you say silly things when you go riding around. We would have fun together....TWINS that we are! Hugs again!
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