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Thanksgiving Pumpkin Pie

A catastrophe of old goslings
Came sauntering on by
Hunting perhaps some pumpkin
Or, maybe yet, a little pecan pie

A horrendous howl of honking
Sliced thru the early morning’s fog
Perturbing the pigs and piglets
Of our farmers: Mr. and Mrs. B. Hogg

Seems our geese were quite giddy
Having been passed over for the block;
So, Thanksgiving would could be grand
For our fancy pastry-chasing flock

Peering perkily from yon copse,
Sally Gossamer Wingstep did risk a look
At the scene of gosling and farm
That rested askew beside the country brook

The winds nappered around from the North
Painting trees and cheeks in orange and red;
Our woodland fairie was on a mission
Having come in place of her ill cousin instead

Beyond the span of the Hoggs’ Farm
A fig tree grew splendid, round, and high
With just the right, rich and sweet fruit
To go in the Queen’s Holiday Figgerry Pie

Sally soared high up the loaded boughs
Selecting the most succulent figs to bag;
Thence to return to the Queen’s Kitchen—
Now weighed sore down, causing her flight to badly sag!

Overloaded Sally collapsed just past the copse;
The goslings saw, then quick-wobbled over to assist;
Flapping wings, cheery honking, and madness
Cut thru the thick new holiday’s swirling mist

Fairie and catastrophe arrived in a tumble;
Hooray, the figs to cook were delivered!
A freshened wind rolled thru the trees
Sending leaves reddening and beshivered

Sally asked how could she ever thank them
As they’d helped finish her mission on the fly—
And there on the morrow, our heroic of goslings
Munched on some of her Majesty’s Best Pumpkin Pie!

Happy Thanksgiving! Don’t forget to have some pie!

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Holidays 2014

Sparkling stars dusting the November heavens above;
A house full of family with bounteous amounts of Love.
Tops of moptops bent over for thanks and solemn prayer.
Dog respectful under table, he knows he’ll get a share.
Pumpkin, whipped crème, with cranberry sauce;
Give me that turkey and I’ll show you who’s boss.
Croissant cooling butterously over on the trivet;
Uncle clamoring for seconds…drumstick? Hey, give it!
I think it must be Thanksgiving, a Thursday nonpareil
And then Christmas is coming. We get presents—f’real!