A Thanksgiving Dinner

A Thanksgiving Dinner
By Lesbia Bryant.

Young Turkey Gobbler, with highly arched head,
Looked at his mates gathered round :
"To-morrow's Thanksgiving," he earnestly said,
"And not one of us must be found;
For I heard the farmer tell his wife
That he would only kill three -
And all the while he sharpened his knife
He kept his eye on me.
'Forewarned is forearmed' - a saying old;
Come, let's hide !" he said.
But the next morning, stiff and cold,
He hung by his legs in the shed.

Miss Yellow Pumpkin, with tears in her eyes,
Grew on a sunny slope.
"To-morrow's Thanksgiving - they always have pies ;
But they won't find me, I hope !
To be made into pies - what a dreadful fate !"
And she rolled from side to side.
"Oh, there comes the farmer's daughter, Kate,
And I must surely hide !"
Then Miss Yellow Pumpkin rolled down hill,
Bruising her dainty self,
And she didn't come to her senses until
There were twelve golden pies on the shelf.

"I wonder what they are trying to do?"
Said the Apples in the bin.
"If we're to be pared and cut in two,
I think it's a shame and a sin !
And only think - to be wrapped in dough,
And put over a kettle to steam !
And now comes the very worst of it, though -
To be eaten - with sugar and cream !"

The Potatoes and Onions, the Turnips and Squash
Got into a regular flutter,
When the farmer's wife gave each a taste
Of the very same kind of butter.
"How can I stand it," Sir Table said ;
And he groaned as if in pain.
"Oh, dear, I would be really glad
If Thanksgiving ne'er came again.
Oh, me ! oh, me !" and he groaned the more
As the children took their places;
But smilingly his load he bore
When he saw their happy faces.