Scarecrow
Rags of my head swelling, the fixed frame veers.
I have stood the year out with eyes too bright.
I am stiff with muck, blown stupid by light.
When will the snow come and give me tears?
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Rags of my head swelling, the fixed frame veers.
I have stood the year out with eyes too bright.
I am stiff with muck, blown stupid by light.
When will the snow come and give me tears?