I Am The Scarecrow

I am the scarecrow.

Hanging from this wooden frame,

a skeleton of twisted wood

that creaks and groans in protest

at the ravages of age.

The ice cold rain

trickles through my straw flesh

bringing chills to every movement

and dull aches to the knotted joints.

I am the scarecrow.

My sack-cloth head

full of sawdust ideas

that spill fr...

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