Owls and Orchids

I’m so grateful for my battered hat

Even though the brims so small

It keeps the hot burning sun

Off my face for a short while

My face is so hot, it feels so hard

Like rough sandpaper I fear

And the itch on my nose I can’t scratch

Since my arms are tied tight

Straight out from my shoulders

And my fingers are quite bent and twisted

There’s a breeze whistling through

A hole in my trews

And if I’m not very careful

Soon you will be able to see straight through

Drat, here comes those pesky crows

I don’t like them, I think it shows

One sits on my hat with a laugh

And two on each arm

What a charm

Scat! Begone! Oh bother the lot

They’re pecking away at my shirt collar

And stealing my stuffing away

Dear me what shall I do

The life of a scarecrow

Is not as easy as you might think

In fact

I’ve been left feeling quite flat!

image from littlegreenshed.blogspot.com

© Susan Jamieson