Come sit with me, you children,
in a circle round the fire;
let me tell you all a story
while the pine log flames get higher;
I first heard this here story
when I was young like you,
sitting around a fire like this
and my grandpa told it true.

These young folks from the city
used to come here every Fall,
taking pictures everywhere,
till one year, as I recall;
they went to see the haystacks
where the moon shines on the fence,
and to see the country scarecrows,
and nobody s seen em since.

There was this farmer, Mr. Brown,
who laughed at tales like this;
one Halloween he left his home
After giving his gal a kiss;
he said he left his bestest hat,
the one with the widest brim ,
out in the field – well, they found his hat
but they ain’t yet found him.

The Rawlins Twins, they was a pair
if mischief was to be had;
they liked to joke – most every folk
said that they was bad.
One Autumn evening they went out
to steal their neighbor s corn.
They ain’t come back; it s just as though
them two was never born.

On Halloween some scarecrows live
just for the night of fear,
but if they get your soul, my child,
they ll live for one whole year.
So if you go into the fields,
make sure you don t arrive
on October thirty-first,
when the scarecrows come alive

Copyright (C) 2006 by John Bliven Morin

This entry was posted on Saturday, August 14th, 2010 at 11:39 am and is filed under Goblin Poems, John Bliven Morin, Spiritual. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.