This poem is the form of a Neville and thank you to http://www.PrairieGardens.com for this frightful pair of scarecrows.
THE SCARECROW
Sad old scarecrow, tattered and torn.
I think I heard him cry,
or did the wind just sigh?
No wonder poor old thing’s forlorn . . .
no duty to uphold —
he shivers in the cold,
in his summer clothes, thin and worn.
9/9/04 Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck
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