A scarecrow in a field of corn,

A thing of tatters all forlorn,

Once felt the influence of Spring

And fell in love—a foolish thing,

And most particularly so

In his case—for he loved a crow!

“Alack-a-day! it’s wrong, I know,

It’s wrong for me to love a crow;

An all-wise man created me

To scare the crows away,” cried he;

“And though the music of her ‘Caw’

Thrills through and through this heart of straw,

“My passion I must put away

And do my duty, come what may!

Yet oh, the cruelty of fate!

I fear she doth reciprocate

My love, for oft at dusk I hear

Her in my cornfield hovering near.