Day & night         rain or shine        he stands
squarely fixed        staring.
When the wind blows
the darting rooks whirl        croak        scatter.

[Smartly he rings loud bells.
His shirt loosely flutters.
His arms        in strips        wave.]


Even the treed spies have fled! ...

The corn
safely rests        breathes        sleeps.


Over the hill
crows      daws      rooks

(They run      beaks    to    the    wind      whirl
&    swirl      prepare to attack!)


He rubs his cloth hands
straightens his ribboned hat
stiffens his strawed legs
heartily swings his bells &
desperately toothless
grins fiercely.


He’s always squarely there, light or dark, desperately peering & glaring.

Occasionally the boldest  crows strut close. But when a sudden gust stirs him, &  his hands wave & bells ring, the startled birds dart into the trees or whirl over the hedge.

Delightedly he trims his miserable gear & waits, marvellously confident, for the next onslaught.