Scarecrow

In the ten acre field the scarecrow stood, Forlorn, like a man forgot. No crops to guard, just rain and mud, Rooted to his lonely plot. All through the winter, standing there A shiver down my spine he sent, Open arms, the unblinking stare I found him quite malevolent. Yet when he guards the growing wheat Keeping all the crows at bay, He looks quite harmless, even sweet On a bright and sunny summers day. But now the fields lay cold and bare And threatening skies loom overhead, It is now me he scares His silhouette, fills me with dread.