He just doesn't seem to like me.

 

If feet had claws and curvy toes

I’d perch content right where I rose

The fields below with corn and wheat

would make me dance with happy feet

I’d fear not scarecrow, stiff and grim

and prove I wasn’t scared of him

But when the farmer came with plow

I’d fly and surely hide somehow

for it’s a fact, not just a rumor

the farmer has no sense of humor.

 

and not to be picky
but I've never seen the farmer dress like this.