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