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THE FIRST THANKSGIVING

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Below is the poem entitled THE FIRST THANKSGIVING which was written by poet Tom Zart. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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THE FIRST THANKSGIVING

THE FIRST THANKSGIVING



The Pilgrims held the first Thanksgiving
At Plymouth in October 1621.
The bitter winter of 1620, was over
With a loss of many father, mother, daughter or son.

Life for survivors was much better now
As a good harvest improved what was rationed
Settlers enjoyed good health and prosperity
As homes were raised from the logs they fashioned.

They walked unafraid and safely in the woods
For they had made peace with the Indians.
After the signing a long-lasting treaty
Natives and Pilgrims shared the land as friends.

Sending four men to shoot waterfowl and wild turkeys
The Pilgrims decreed a holiday of good fortune
A chief was invited who brought 90 braves
And five deer to increase the portion.

It was an open-air roast and festival
Held along the north bank of Town Brook.
Where there were games of skill, chance and dance
While everyone gorged on the feast they cooked.

From then on Thanksgiving spread through the colonies
Though each region chose its own date.
Till in 1789 president Washington proclaimed
November 26 a day to give thanks and celebrate.

The theme of Thanksgiving has always been the same.
Though its date has changed many times.
A day for giving and remembering the less fortunate
Expressing thankfulness with our prayers, hearts and minds.

It is our duty as a nation to acknowledge providence
Of Almighty God, and to obey his will.
To be grateful for his blessings, and protection
As we humbly partake in the tables we fill.


THANKSGIVING


It's a time of plenty and a time for prayer, 
A time for families to gather and share.
It's a time to remember those pilgrims past, 
A time to celebrate life, while it last.

As we bow our heads around the table,
With turkey, cranberry sauce, and pumpkin pie. 
Before we feast we’ll thank our Lord
For the blessings of the year gone by.

Old Jack Frost is freezing on the windows, 
As outside the bitter wind blows. 
While inside there's a red, hot fire,
Which welcomes and warms both hearts and souls.


By Tom Zart

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