A Thanksgiving Poem

In the kitchen pumpkin and apple pies are baking

Billy is in the yard, leaves a’raking

Mom bustles about, humming a holiday song

Setting the table since it won’t be long

Best china laid out with napkins clean

Polished silverware with a metallic sheen

Uncle Frank and Aunt Sue will be here in a bit

Though Cousin Rebecca may throw her normal fit

Sun has arisen over the trees

Autumn gold leaves rustle in the breeze

Baby Ann scoots happily across the floor

While Dad’s hatchet waits by the door

A sharp, newly honed edge gleaming bright

Johnny shivers at the wicked sight

Cinnamon and nutmeg smells waft through the house

Lovely cooking smells enticing even the mouse

Taking the hatchet, Dad heads out the door

Knowing there’s one more last final chore

He heads to the pen where the turkeys are huddled

Gobbling together, their thoughts so muddled

Fresh carcass in hand he heads back in

One less turkey huddled in the pen

When the table is set: potatoes, beans, turkey and pies

We all sit down with anticipatory sighs

While at the abundant food I try not to stare

Uncle Frank smiles and gives the customary prayer

….

Dear Lord, we give thanks for the food, our health, this wonderful family, our vocal media friends, and all your blessings. Good bread, good meat, good God let’s eat.

Happy Thanksgiving.