“Airum cairum dairum,
Airum cairum go-oh.
Airum cairum dairum”,
Sang the scarecrow full of woe.
My hat and coat have gone to rot,
And not without good reason.
Since I have stood in this very same spot,
For season after season.
And when the next hard winds do blow,
My leg will snap all rotten.
The farmer stood me here to stay,
And then to be forgotten.
Partial poem by Graeme Miles
(Red Scarecrow)