The Scarecrow
by William Blaze
Scarecrow Scarecrow, burning bright
In the cornfields of the night:
What cursed hay, what dread disease
Hath stuffed thy ragged dungarees?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the coals that light thine eyes?
What the sorcery, what dread game
Hath fashioned thee, unharmed by flame,
To rush enkindled through these parts
With flick’ring feet and burning heart?
And when thy heart began to glow
Why, did thy maker even know
That thou wouldst not burn with the rest,
Those nibbling beasts and wingéd pests?
What conflagration, what dread pyre
Hath unleashed thee, who lives on fire?
When the farmhouse crackled down
And gusting wind spread sparks toward town
Did he shudder his work to see?
Did he who burnt the fields free thee?
Scarecrow Scarecrow, burning bright
In the cornfields of the night:
What cursed hay, what dread disease
Preserves thy ragged dungarees?