In my backyard the enormous, frantic, straw beast just stands there
And looks at me.
Its eyes draw me in.
The frenzied beast gives me the chilliness of a ghostly cemetery.
Its blusterous lips pucker in the mysterious background of his face.
It stands near the fence,
Denying me access like a closed gate.
As the wind gusts, leaves swarm around it,
And it starts to waltz with all the other nonbeings.
From our great oak tree, far from the abandoned farmhouse stands that dirty thing, as it dances in the wind,
The frigid creek flows behind it as autumn disappears.
The fog and fire perish away as life itself cannot stay,
Yet, the downhearted scarecrow can never breathe its last.
So live your life to the fullest and do not cry,
For that little Scarecrow is legendary and will never die.