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A Fiendish Grin

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Summary:
A poem for Halloween

By harvest moon,  the demons came

With sacks and knives, their lust profane

Choosing all the golden best

They tore them from their beds of rest

Scarecrow dared not make a sound

And hugged his post set in the ground

Of the crime, he’d never tell

For fear of being dragged to hell

By morning sun, his tearful stare

Gazed upon a field, quite bare

Lowering his straw-filled head

He sadly wished that he was dead

Sold unto the eager hoards

The babes soon sat on cutting boards

How skillfully the carvers cut

Slicing through both flesh and gut

Where once had been the smoothest skin

Now are holes where light comes in

A burning candle placed within

Illuminates a fiendish grin

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