A needle and thread,|
A basket of bread,
Two buttons of clay,
A whole lot of hay.
A sack overhead,
A sheet from the bed,
The time grows near,
Soon they will fear.
Created for terror,
There is no margin for error,
My timing must be right,
That I may cause great fright.
I have come to life on the field,
If the farm is armor I am its shield,
The sun comes up and the birds fly nearby,
The battle has begun, I hear them cry.
I am surrounded I will not last long,
I am a fool for feeling so strong,
My enemies pass without a glance,
I stare at the ground stuck in a trance.
The battle comes to an end,
Nothing is left to defend,
The field has been left ravaged,
Not one crop to be salvaged,
The truth was before my eyes,
This loss should not have been a surprise,
I was not prepared for an enemy so great,
With a thirst for blood they could not sate.
But as I loomed over defeat,
There stood a child before my feet,
My master looked up with eyes of joy,
For her I was no more than a toy.
She brought my inside and said,
?I knew he was not dead!?
I ask myself, ?Why does she care?
What good is a scarecrow that cannot scare?
Perhaps I was not to hold the blame,
My life was sewn to entertain,
Although I could not scare,
My master did not care.
She was learning to sew,
I watched the ribbons flow,
Eventually we will conquer,
Together we would not falter.
She said, ?this night we will win?,
She looked my way with a grin,
?We should make you look scarier, that is my guess,
Perhaps you?d look more frightening without that pink dress.?
Her hand did not tremble, she would not relent.
We give our enemies this last chance to repent.
Now there is no doubt, tonight we shall earn the crown,
All hail the Scarecrow King, in his new purple gown!