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Scarecrow

The Scarecrow - A Poem

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Poetry

So there he stands
All on his own
A barley field
He calls his home
On mud and stones
His legs do rest
He looks lonely
And not well-dressed

A threadbare coat
He wears with pride
Though bits of straw
Poke out the sides
And badly tied
A scarf of red
An old top hat
On top his head

In rain and wind
He's always there
A thankless task
For no-one cares
All day he stares
At passing crows
And rats that gnaw
At his straw toes

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