My eyes scan the open fields
No more can I see
The endearing, tattered figure
Standing flapping in the breeze.

In hope I look
As I travel the countryside
To see him standing there
With arms out stretched wide.

I'll never tire of looking
For this breathless character,
Standing motionless in the distance,
The birds his task to scare.

His pockets used for nesting
His hat a perch
His coat a cosy windshield,
His straw for warmth and birth.

Farmers learn of other ways
To scare and save their seed.
I miss the friendly scarecrow
On our modern country scene.
I

© Elizabeth Manwaring