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The crows did gloat
In jubilee
As up above they shot...
Their claws were filled
With contraband
From Old McJeeber's lot.
And stomped, and cursed,
McJeeber swore,
"I'm at my Jeeber's end..."
"Those blasted crows,
It's time they go
To not be seen again!"
Well Old McJeeber had a plan
Connivingly he schemed
Remembering once an old green witch
He'd helped one Halloween.
He'd done the hag a favor
When he found her nearly drowned
After crashing in the rippling brook
Upon McJeeber's ground.
For melting death by water,
To a witch is just no fun
He'd saved her from a sure demise...
He knew she owed him one!
So summoned he
The witch he'd saved
Then hearing of his woes,
A cunning, yet ironic plot
She made to fell the crows.
She opened up her book of spells
And terms of magic uttered
Then conjured she a hex so vile
That Old McJeeber shuddered:
"Rooks and Ravens, Murder of Crows
Caw, Caw, Caw, You Cackle in Rows."
"But flight be stopped and feathers changed,
Stuffed and stiff your parts arranged.
Sawdust, hay and rags of old,
Stuck onto a wooden pole,
Plopped you'll stay and no sound make
Scaring thieves upon a stake"
"Such sardonic handicraft!"
The witch and old McJeeber laughed...
"As punishment, this fate you've chose
You're thieves no more, just hung Scarecrows."
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