by Nick Gisburne
I swept the scowling scarecrow from my bed
And drove him up a drainpipe to the roof
He fell, a triple spin with twisting head
But lived and laughed, pristine and plummet-proof
“Invincible!” he crowed. “Let death concede!”
And summoned there one thousand of his kin
They commandeered a ship, to sail at speed
Demanding that the mermaids knit them skin
The scarecrow seamen whipped the whistling waves
But mastering the tides is almost art
Regretfully, they spiralled to their graves
Their soaking stalks washed wide, flung far apart
Their captain could endure the shame no more
The last to drown, his was the final straw
