It is forecast winds cold and blistery
and the leaves have started to blacken
I have to be careful where I trudge
stepping over crisp, dry bracken.

The twigs cling onto their rosy berries
as the wind rushes past uncaring
the scarecrow's face tells it all
the evidence is what he is wearing.

The clouds part giving way to a sky that's purple
dappled here and there with a bit of blue
It rains on scarecrows more often than not
and the buzzard has a bird's eye view.

A cottage portrays windows hot with orange
a roaring fire with apple logs is aglow
Outside the weather is turning one degree under
and the sky has filled with fluffy snow.

The scarecrow winces and shuts his eyes
ready for the blast from the icy white
But the buzzard comforts him in his own way
and reassures him that it will be just one night.