Scarecrow...

The lonely scarecrow standing in the field His only return in life is waiting for the yield Hot and parched without a dropp to drink Of this the passing farmer does not think His plight is ongoing, never a moments break He stands firm but his smile is always fake The black crow flies past and pecks at his feet Sadly he weeps, but flowing from his eyes is only wheat The night turns dark and he has nowhere to go The wounds of his job let's his stuffing flow He braves another turn of day never to complain And steadfast his vacant stare watches again The days get hotter and the ground begins to bake A flash in the corner of his unseeing sight gives him a shake The worst he could imagine has crackled and flared Even the stony eyed scarecrow has reason to be scared The flames soon engulf the field and he has nowhere to go The dancing fire rushes toward him, starting at his toe Only the blalckened earth on an empty scorched field remain but not a sound was uttered for the scarecrow dared not complain...