I had a dream the other night,
About Thanksgiving Day,
The situation was reversed.
A Pilgrim was the bird of prey.
I saw some turkeys gathered 'round,
For their strange and sumptuous, feast,
They brooded, as they feuded,
Over which would get which piece.
The Pilgrim lay upon a platter,
Stretched out in full array,
Surrounded by potatoes,
A sight for a gourmet.
An apple stuffed into his mouth,
His boots of licorice black,
A gravy colored jacket,
And a charcoal tinted hat.
How to carve him - how to serve him?
A dilemma for the birds,
GOBBLE! GOBBLE! GOBBLE!
Was the frantic sound I heard.
"Let's roast him," cackled one old hen,
"Saute' his innards and his heart."
"Boiling's good," another said.
"Let's serve him ala carte."
"Oh my," I thought, when I woke up,
"How rude those turkeys were!"
Then I hastened to the table,
To polish off my turkey bird.
H A P P Y T H A N K S G I V I N G!
Virginia (Ginny) Ellis
Copyright November 2002 ~ 2003 ~ 2006