Wise Old Scarecrow

The old scarecrow that stands 
between the rows of corn, 
looks a bit worse-for-the-wear, 
clothes all tattered and torn. 

There’s patches on his pants, 
he’s got a faded old shirt 
but he hasn’t got shoes 
to keep his toes from the dirt.

He wears an old fishing hat 
and his hair’s quite a mess 
but he doesn’t seem to mind, 
he likes it that way I guess. 

He waves ‘cross the field 
like a long lost friend 
with a lopsided grin 
that doesn’t seem to end. 
        
Sometimes I go out there 
to spend time with him, 
kind eyes always greet me 
beneath that floppy brim. 

He doesn’t say much, 
but he’s good-hearted and gentle;
always willing to listen 
when I get sentimental.

When I sit at his feet
and tell him my sorrows
he nods silent promise
of better tomorrows.

Then he looks down at me
with a wink in his eyes.
He knows I feel better,
and he’s never surprised.



july 2004
©Janet Reid