We have an annual "Scarecrow Festival" in my home town. All very twee and touristy. A poetry competition (scarecrow theme) is part of the deal and last year I entered. Didn't win. I still like my poem, though.
Sympathy for the Scarecrow
For more than two millennia
o’er the cornfields of mankind,
watched a drab and lonely guardian –
to his fate, damply resigned.
Midst ancient Grecian crops he stood,
in Old Japan, omniscient,
for all he couldn’t walk.
Through Rome he passed to Europe
and thence to England’s shore,
where by many names, he kept the grains
safe from the songbird’s craw.
Thus, in Somerset the mommet
startled starlings from the field;
while the mawkin sent the woodpigeon
back to the Sussex weald;
Gallybagger on the Isle of Wight,
and Berkshire’s hodmedod,
urged the linnet and the jackdaw
to avoid the new-sown sod.
On Scottish crofts, bodach rocais
‘the old man of the rooks’,
with tattie bogle stood against
those black and clever crooks.
A strange, unlovely sentinel;
this Guy of twine and straw,
having sought a brain in Oz, in vain,
can’t tell us what he saw,
in all those fields through all those years
as harvests came and went;
the hopes and fears, the famished tears,
the laughter and content.
We’ve made of him a grotesque,
teamed with witches and the dead;
and it somehow seems scant gratitude
to one who kept us fed.