The Scarecrow

I knew the man , I just knew him very well,
He stood there with his head held high.
The eyes held with determination,
And just the hint of a smile.

A lil birdie poops on his head,
But, not a word , said he.
The hometown doggie marks his spot,
But the man stands firm, fixed in thought.

Marching towards someplace was he,
Whe someone freezed the frame.
A multitude flocks to see him everyday,
But no one knows his name.

Gentle, kind and a soul so merry,
the world had never before the chance to see,
a great leader he was. In death,
he left behind a legacy.

As he stands with his head held high,
But, wishing he could let out a sigh.
Weeds and bushes, his bed,
For company , a lark.
Here stands the scarecrow of the city,
Another statue in the park.