American Thanksgiving

Down by the Murray River's banks I rest and send our giver Thanks. Oh do I miss that Yankee feast the turkey or a different beast up on the table bending slightly with young ones, and those oldies, sprightly all fiddling in anticipation to start the party of this nation. There's cranberry with real berries and on the server various sherries, those roast potatoes look devine red cabbage, cole slaw, shredded fine, and salad with a thousand colours and suddenly the old man hollers let's get this show now on the road I always felt that one small ode should have been written long ago the people love Thanksgiving so. And even though the very thought of thanking Him, the one who brought those riches to the common man is not apparent but one can detect that all the people are aware and grateful, from afar they know who is their real Master who keeps them from abject disaster so when at last the glass is raised it signifies that God be praised. As long as I'm among the living I'll miss American Thanksgiving.