Charcoaled eyes with a straw like build.
Standing alone in Mr.Daughtry's field.
Way up high on the crest of a hill.
Your silloute in autumn brings haunting chills.
A simple life that you live all year round.
Protecting the crops that come from the ground.
Keeping blackbirds at bay until trust is found.
Knowing you are one that makes no sound.
I watch as the rain pulls your seasoned clothes.
Its part of the job as only you would know.
Gone are the days of spring and sow.
No longer full of hay as your insides now show.
But, Mr.Daughtry will come by from time to time.
Making sure your together like rythme to rhyme.
Gathering the parts old crows did not find.
Mr.Daughtry's scarecrow is truely, one of a kind.