Thanksgiving
Sunday is here again
And the troops are marching
In drones to feast
At the feet of their Lord
Gaiety is in the air
Everyone looking their best
A kiss here, a salutation there
Gone are the worries and cares
Some come afoot
Others drive and zoom
Dust and smoke become mixed
With scented gases in the atmosphere
Picking my way among the crowd
I jostled for a seat and pondered
Over the insanity of people with
Rotten souls encased in glamorous clothes.
Copyright © Henry Ategie | Year Posted 2017
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