Diehard Scarecrow

More about Diehard Scarecrow

In the field, he stands alone,
A tattered figure, weathered and prone.
His straw-stuffed form, ragged and bare,
A diehard scarecrow, with a haunted air.
Once, he was new, and filled with might,
A protector, in the daylight bright.
With outstretched arms, and burlap face,
He guarded the crops, with steadfast grace.
Through wind and rain, he stood his ground,
A sentinel, always around.
He scared away the birds and pests,
Keeping the harvest, at its best.
But time went on, and seasons passed,
The sun and rain, took their toll at last.
His straw grew thin, his burlap frayed,
His posture slouched, his presence swayed.
Yet, he held on, with unwavering will,
A diehard scarecrow, standing still.
His purpose clear, though worn and torn,
He guarded the field, from dusk till morn.
His eyes, though stitched, still held a gleam,
A silent sentinel, in the moonlight's beam.
A reminder of resilience and might,
A symbol of perseverance, day and night.
The seasons changed, as years went by,
But the scarecrow stood, beneath the sky.
A testament to unwavering might,
A diehard scarecrow, in the fading light.
For in his presence, a lesson taught,
To stand firm, no matter what's sought.
To weather the storms, and stand upright,
A diehard scarecrow, with undying might.