(The form chosen for this week is the rondel).
‘Twas the eve of Thanksgiving Day.
I’m not at all grateful, he said.
There’s no fun in losing one’s head,
Then roasted and carved on a tray;
Sage stuffed up your bum all the way
With mushrooms and spice mixed with bread.
‘Twas the eve of Thanksgiving Day.
I’m not at all grateful, he said.
So how would you like, come what may,
To be basted when you are dead?
Thank God for this turkey well-fed,
Big drumsticks, plump breast, they all pray.
‘Twas the eve of Thanksgiving Day.
I’m not at all grateful, he said.
I think I can understand. I certainly wouldn’t like things stuffed up my rear, but then again we’re going to do just that with OUR turkey tomorrow!
You must stuff it, surely, with regret!!
I have forwarded this to an American friend and asked her to recite it before they sit down to demolish their poor sacrificed turkey.
LOL! I hope it doesn’t replace grace!!
Poor turkey–being delicious is a curse!
I know!
You’re so vain … 😆
Are you talking to Nanette above?!
No, I was talking to Bruce below.
!!
I am not having enough people over this year to warrant a turkey, so have a nice fat chicken, which is meeting the same fate as the poor poetic narrator…
The rooster too will have very little to crow about.
How poignant is the turkey’s elegy! How cruel the gluttonous cook! You have employed the rhymes and rhythm of rondel to a devastating effect.
Thank you, Uma.. And to think that although I’m not an American, our Thanksgiving turkey is currently defrosting for tomorrow!
You’ve trotted out a good one here, Bruce
Thanks, Derrick!