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Scarecrow

October 21st, 2017 by Magdalena Tabor

 

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Be afraid!

For didn’t you see my shirttail fly

As I stand stock-still with a glint in my eye,

Pretending to be just stuff of straw?

But know this, raven, I am much, much more!

 

Tremble at my arms a’flailing!

The wind discerns my wit by wailing,

And you, fine raven, consider my threat

As nothing more than baseless fret,

And weary at the effort, less hurricane than zephyr.

 

Be afraid, I say!

As night descends with its screeching owl awry,

For in this field of stubble rests the shadow of time gone by,

And I must rise to shake the dust,

For know this, raven, I must, I must!

 

Quiver just a little now!

A feathered pile to fluff my brow.

Will nothing ruffle, rift or tousle?

My words deflect, devoid of muscle.

Oh, raven, cock your head

Give me an ounce of dread.

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