The Scarecrow

Once I was hard and bitter
Seeds thrown on me were simply litter

I am now the good ground
But once by thieving birds I was bound

The caretaker would throw the seed
Yet all that came up were weeds

Thorns and thistles appeared too
And yet the farmer knew just what to do

He placed two pieces of wood into me
And hung on it what appeared to be a man

There the old scarecrow hung in his tree
Soon after the farmer worked with His hands

He dug, pruned, plowed, and watered
And the birds stayed away because of Him who was martyred

Now I am soft and sweet
No longer is the scarecrow stuck at my feet

The caretaker came and took him down
And yet still I am good ground

Because the birds perch on the empty wooden cross
They seem to think somehow that the scarecrow lost

But as for me I cling to the wood
Because it made this hard ground good!