A DARK CORNER

In the corner of a field,
Where nobody goes.
Where the sun never shines,
And the wind always blows.

There stands a Wiley old scarecrow,
In raggedy clothes.
His days filled with torment,
Pestered by crows.

The shadows from trees,
The company he chose.
How he arrived there,
Nobody knows.

His top hat sits jaunty,
To cover his eyes.
As the world goes on around him,
He stands there and cries.

A self imposed prisoner,
To the lifestyle he chose.
Why he still stands there,
Nobody knows.