A Tale of Two Turkeys
Poor Thomas Turkey,
Alone in his pen.
Sits solemn and scared,
For they 'did in' his hen.
They took her off Sunday,
Then snuffed out her life.
And now he's alone,
Cause they've eaten his wife.
Thanksgiving now over,
He preens with relief.
He can muster a gobble,
Along with his grief.
He pecks round his pen,
For some 'scratch' sprinkled there.
Grows quite happy again,
Not remotely aware . .
That Christmas is coming
For family and friend,
And for Christmas, at dinner;
They'll eat turkey again.
© 2015 Diane Lefebvre
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