I was awake all night,
big as a polar bear,
strong and firm and white.
The tall black hat i wear
was draped with ermine fur.
i felt so fit and well
till the world began to stir
and the morning sun swell
i was tired, began to yawn;
at noon in the humming sun,
i caught a severe warm;
my nose began to run.
my hat grew black and fell,
was followed by my grey head.
there was no funeral bell,
but by teatime i was dead.
_Vernon Scannell_
Friday, April 3, 2009
The Lonely Scarecrow
My poor old bones-I've only got two-
A broomshank and a broken stave.
my ragged gloves are a disgrace.
my one peg-foot is in the grave.
I wear the labourer's old clothes;
coat,shirt and trousers all undone.
I bear my cross upon a hill
in rain and shine, in snow and sun.
I cannot help the way i look.
my funny hat is full of hay.
-O, wild birds, come and nest in me!
why do you always fly away?
_James Kirkup_
A broomshank and a broken stave.
my ragged gloves are a disgrace.
my one peg-foot is in the grave.
I wear the labourer's old clothes;
coat,shirt and trousers all undone.
I bear my cross upon a hill
in rain and shine, in snow and sun.
I cannot help the way i look.
my funny hat is full of hay.
-O, wild birds, come and nest in me!
why do you always fly away?
_James Kirkup_
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