Here is the scarecrow, see him stand
Upon the newly planted land;
A figure rugged and forlorn,
A silent watcher of the corn.
His dangling legs, his arms spread wide,
A lone man of the countryside;
Uncouth, the butt of pen and tongue,
Unheralded, unsought, unsung.
To you, old scarecrow, then this lay
To cheer you on your lonely way;
Would that all men, their whole lives through,
Served some good purpose same as you.
