In the world of blocks, where skies are wide,
A scarecrow stands, with hollowed pride.
October winds sweep through the air,
And whispers carry tales of fear.
His body stitched from hay and wood,
He watches fields, as guardians should.
But something stirs beneath his gaze,
In pixel dusk, in autumn’s haze.
Eyes of coal, they softly gleam,
A figure plucked from some strange dream.
He never moves, or so they say,
Yet shadows dance in eerie play.
When moon is high and crops are dead,
He tilts his head—forebodes instead.
For in this season, carved from fright,
The Scarecrow wakes on Halloween night.
Beware the fields when the fog creeps near,
For October’s Scarecrow is nothing to cheer.
In Minecraft’s square and silent land,
He’ll make his move with a twisted hand.

Vote by noon on 10/21 in person at Creative Arts Group, or on