The Lonely Old Scarecrow
J
Jayne Louise Davies
0
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Just a tattered old scarecrow,
Filled up with straw,
His clothes are a mess,
His life is a bore.
Nothing to do,
But scare off the crows,
With his old beady eyes,
And a twig for a nose.
There in a field,
Time passes him by,
Out in all weathers,
Beneath the vast sky.
If only to have a life of his own,
To dance,
To sing,
Many places to roam.
The rain falls down,
On his sad, weary face,
If only!
He thought,
To get out of this place.
Jayne Louise Davies
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