Scarecrow

I am created to scare away.
With strong breeze I too sway.
I have no home or nest.
I just slog and sweat.
My figure makes every one laugh.
Frightened birds leave with a huff.
I am the protector of this field.
The farmer doesn’t thank me for his yield.
Daylong standing ache my legs and limbs.
Insect bites fill me with pricks and pains.
Alas! My existence has no value.
My torn clothes, none are ready to sew.
It’s so embarrassing to be a scarecrow?!
I will take it no more, I vow.
Will I find a way? I know not.
Under the sky, in the field, I may rot.
What if I was made of flesh and blood?
I too would lead a life like the farmer did!