50
POEMS BY CLARA A. MERRILL
HE GOT LEFT
"I swan!" said farmer Joe one morn,—
"Them pesky crows shan't have my corn!"
So he went to work, and soon he found
Two stakes, which he drove into the ground.
Then he brought to light some ragged pants
And a tattered coat soon found a chance;
While an old felt hat was perched for show
Upon the head of the old scare-crow.
"Them pesky crows shan't have my corn!"
So he went to work, and soon he found
Two stakes, which he drove into the ground.
Then he brought to light some ragged pants
And a tattered coat soon found a chance;
While an old felt hat was perched for show
Upon the head of the old scare-crow.
One arm reached out while the other one
Held to his breast a rusty gun.
"There it is done, and now, " quoth he—
"See which will beat—them crows or me!"
So in the house the whole day he spent,
Feeling at ease and well content,—
While a broad grin o 'er his features strayed
As he tho't of the trick on the crows he'd played.
Held to his breast a rusty gun.
"There it is done, and now, " quoth he—
"See which will beat—them crows or me!"
So in the house the whole day he spent,
Feeling at ease and well content,—
While a broad grin o 'er his features strayed
As he tho't of the trick on the crows he'd played.
Meanwhile, two crows sat on a tree—
The young said to the old one: —"See
That horrid thing that's standing yonder—
What is he doing here I wonder?
The young said to the old one: —"See
That horrid thing that's standing yonder—
What is he doing here I wonder?
