Matthew Pratt - To Mount A Scarecrow

It was a sunlit autumn, dying
Foliage was not raked for days,
Bark was gnawn at, soup was tasteless,
Scarecrows had been lumbered away

Amidst the harvest, thriven and orange
Did there hang, a scarecrow, stark
Though this one, not in effigy

Matthew Pratt

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-mount-a-scarecrow/