When The Scarecrows Come Alive Poem by John Bliven Morin

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,
a-settin’ round a fire like this,
an’ my grandpa told it true.

These young folks from the city
used to come here every Fall,
a-takin’ pictures everywhere,
till one year, as I recall;
They went to see the haystacks
where the moon shines on the fence,
an’ to see the country scarecrows,
an’ 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 aint 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 the 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!