THE TALE OF WILLIE SCAT

In the garden near the stalks of corn, lives a scarecrow with a tattered hat,
a worn-out shirt and ragged pants.  We call him Willie Scat.

His head is stuffed with straw for brains and he has broomstick bones;
he can’t help the way he looks. His grin as stiff as stone, and never changing,
he doesn’t wink or blink or frown, doesn’t so much as bat an eyewhen those critters come around.

He has a burlap head with button eyes, his nose, half of an old corn cob. His ears are hidden by straw hair and he does look a little odd standing out there all alone; but he tries to do his job.

Willie tries to keep the crows away and keep old ground hog out, tries to scare the blue jays off that keep yammering about; he tries to scare the raccoons, skunks and squirrels away. He tries his best to do his job every single day

He tries to scare the mice away but they pay him no mind,  but Willie Scat is out there each day rain or shine,  I haven’t seen him move an inch since we moved him there last spring. A pair of wrens live in his hat. Who’d have thought such a thing? He doesn’t scare the birds one bit and old ground hog eats his fill.  I guess Willie tries to do his job, but I think he never will.

Annette Bromley