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