There once was a scarecrow named Kevin
Who never tried swearin' and 'eff-in'...
When annoyed by the birds
He, alas, had no words
And no mouth ... and no lungs to put bref in!
He ached to shout sounds that would deaf'n,
Or sing songs with a loud treble clef in ..
And he slumped in despair
When, wafting on air,
Came the smells of superior cheffin'!
His owners were cooking! What heav'n!
But no eating for him, he must reck'n,
His system digestive
Would not be receptive..
No birds in a pie for poor Kevin!
No dish with a Blackbird Kiev in,
No cream teas imported from Dev'n..
No food and no fun
Just the work to be done,
Was the manna from heav'n for Kevin!
Yes, work was the gift he was given ..
No cricket, no football eleven,
No sports car, no bike,
He had nothing to like
Save his dutiful chores nine to seven.
Devoted and selflessly driven,
And endlessly wise and forgivin',
He toiled through each day
In his shy, silent way,
A model to everyone livin'!
But now they've retired you...oh Kevin
Hear the Angels all shoutin' and reffin'!
They'll applaud first your game,
Then your motor bike fame
As around heaven's roads you go revvin'!
An ode to Kevin the scarecrow who was created by Carol and John Leslie in order to frighten away the blackbirds searching for food in their flower pots.
(Interestingly, there are no rhymes in my rhyming dictionary for the word Kevin.)