By Linda A. Copp
Mr. Scarecrow, you're much too meek,
you're much too gentle, mild.
You're much too kind to scare a crow
or even shun, a child.
In your funny coat, patched and bright
pants of green and gold
You haven't any 'unlite' spots,
least none I can behold.
A smile is crayoned cross the broom,
that stands out as your head.
Its bristles point the other way,
beneath a hat of red.
And painted on that one time sweep,
a funny face, a smirk,
It isn't quite that mean enough,
to let the scaring work.
Your laughter seems to change it,
into a silly grin.
Your gentle eyes of charcoal,
reflect a glow within.
And glow is what you must do,
your colors, dress and face,
They turned you from intended stress,
into the scare's disgrace.
For the crows
they fly above you
they light upon your brow.
It seems they mock and mimic you,
but, to their taunts you mustn't bow.
For the children they all love you,
you're their very best of friend.
You give them light and magic,
from that heart that shines within.
And so, as straw arms reach out,
to children, love and care,
It's really then no wonder,
My scarecrow, you can't scare.
And though you feel a failure,
so often at your job,
You mustn't fall to sighing,
Oh no, You mustn't sob.
For you've achieved a rarer goal,
than once was one day planned,
You've remained yourself, a friend,
straw borders you have spanned.
And no, you needn't worry,
No, you needn't fret,
Though, they can't see your troubled heart,
broken with regret.
Sunshine, is your master.
Scariness is your foe.
The worlds demands you shackled,
by a heart too kind to know,
That cold and darkness have to be,
a part of any day,
That warmth and sunshine often are lost,
forgotten in their way.
Now, though they call you Scarecrow
there's no villain in your soul.
You've failed at what their names implied
but are names the only goal?
For you're one who has to laugh and sing,
scary things, you cannot do.
You have to cheer the dreary skies.
You have to turn them blue.
You can't conceal that silly smile,
that wants to be a friend.
You can't be mean and angry,
you can't a teardrop lend.
No, no, my friend, you mustn't cry.
You mustn't feel you've failed.
For in the end you did what's right,
your inner self prevailed.
And this is much more a victory,
than you can now, believe.
You've done a harder, wiser, task,
than any crow, could leave.
and the like
kiss you on this morn.
Thank you for your silly mask,
that couldn't hurt and scorn.
And bless you for your loving heart,
your hand a golden glove,
That managed to maintain the touch
harvested such love!
By Linda A. Copp ©