Essays, Art and Plays by Dan

(mid-tempo, moody, but with warmth and gravitas)

[Verse 1]
Yeah—
Out in the field where the wild winds roam,
Where the land hums deep like a living poem,
He stands in silence, tall and thin,
With a crown of straw and sun-burned skin.

No words, no breath, but he holds the line,
A monument made of thread and time.
Not made to move, but made to last,
A sentry forged from the farmer’s past.

[Verse 2]
Coat stitched tight by mother earth’s hand,
He’s rooted deep because he knows this land.
Hat pulled low, eyes dark with thought—
He don’t forget what the seasons taught.

They say he once had skin and bone,
A man who worked the field alone.
Loved the soil too much to leave,
So the earth gave back, the straw could breathe.

[Verse 3]
He don’t chase crows just to scare ya,
He’s the watcher. He’s the prayer.
He’s the wind in wheat, the pause in plow,
The one who’s still here, keeping his vow.

No ghost, no curse, no wrathful soul—
He’s a relic standing firm and whole.
In rain or drought, in ice or flame,
He stays when everything else forgets its name.

[Verse 4]
O Scarecrow, stitched in sacred light,
You hold the edge of day and night.
You’re made of straw, but your truth is steel,
A soul that plants and waits to heal.

Not for fame, not for praise—
But to guide the land through endless days.
A symbol standing in the corn
That strength is quiet from morn to morn.

Final Verse
So if you see that figure sway,
Don’t fear—just nod, then walk your way.
He ain’t a ghost. He ain’t the past.
He’s what survives. He’s built to last.

A scarecrow, yeah—but more than dust—
He teaches how to stand. To trust.
To weather loss and still hold ground—
To guard the crops and to make it count.