Youthful river, sticks and stones,
A scarecrow is caught in your current.
He’d been trying to see his reflection,
The moon and the mandolin,
But like an idiot fell in.
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A chorus of baritone bullfrogs,
Striking their work at the factory,
Throw rocks at his head.
A taxi driver with a chewed cigar
Gets a rake and tries to pull him in.
But the flood comes and breaks
The scarecrow apart on the weathervane
Of the boat shed. The sky is blue.
There are tufts of grass like
Moustaches on the trunks of the trees.
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