The Scarecrow - Robertson

THE SCARECROW
By Donald Robertson (1800s-1900s)

A scarecrow, in a field of corn,
Stood broken down, well nigh,
But through the sunshine or the rain,
His face still faced the sky.

The ravens filled with strange alarm,
Flew by with startled cry,
When seeing ‘tween his wind tossed arms
His face still faced the sky.

But once a dove from out a wood
Came cooing forth a sigh,
Now, though the scarecrow yearned for love,
His face still faced the sky.

And so he missed the love he sought,
And soon he drooped to die,
Unheeded, broken, on the ground,
His face still faced the sky.

The dove a mate soon found, indeed
Why should she longer try
To win the scarecrow fallen low;
His face still faced the sky.

She took his heart of withered straw,
To line her nest near by,
And scarcely noticed as she passed,
His face still faced the sky.

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From Impressions in Rhyme, 1896