I
saw a
tattered dark
useless scarecrow,
in a large wheat field, where all flying birds
seemed to enjoy, resting on tattered arms.
Except children
who seemed to
greatly
fear.
But
once at
night, I thought
I saw it move,
scared the guts out of my soul as I screamed.
”What are you screaming for, you wake the birds.”
Did I hear right?
I felt fear,
I ran
fast.
...
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