the scarecrow version 1.1

he stands in the midst of dusk, his frame a darkened husk,
alone, surrounded by dust, across empty fields he glares,
his form twisted, quite grotesque, vigilantly watches,
always ready to defend, all that which his vision crosses,
the scarecrow grins a sadistic grin, his teeth like shining daggers,
his hollow laugh echoes upon the barren field he watches,
ready at once to rend, to tear, destroy, and maim,
willing, hoping for another one, a victim for to claim,