Poems of Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving Poem on Card

We truly admire the skill of these poets, it amazes us how they express just the right sentiment with so few words.

Funny Ode to Thanksgiving

May your stuffing be tasty May your turkey plump, May your potatoes and gravy Have nary a lump. May your yams be delicious And your pies take the prize, And may your Thanksgiving dinner Stay off your thighs!

A Poem for Thanksgiving

The year has turned its circle, The seasons come and go. The harvest all is gathered in And chilly north winds blow. Orchards have shared their treasures, The fields, their yellow grain, So open wide the doorway, Thanksgiving comes again. [Author: Unknown]

At Grandma's House Poems of Thanksgiving

I like the taste of turkey Any time throughout the year But it never seems to taste as good As when Thanksgiving's here. Could be it's all the trimmings That are cooked with it to eat- But I think it's eating at Grandma's house That makes it such a treat!

Another Funny Thanksgiving Poem

Turkey Warning

Tell me, Mr. Turkey, Don't you feel afraid When you hear us talking 'Bout the plans we've made? Can't you hear us telling How we're going to eat Cranberries and stuffing With our turkey meat? Turkey, heed my warning: Better fly away; Or you will be sorry On Thanksgiving day.

A Lovely Thanksgiving Blessing

Thank You For Inviting Us

Thank you for inviting us To your Thanksgiving dinner. A day spent in your company Is invariably a winner. Thank you for the time you spent Preparing all the food; For making us feel welcome, You have our gratitude! Poem by Joanna Fuchs Follow-up It's not what we say about our blessings, but how we use them, that is the true measure of our Thanksgiving.  WT Purkiser

Remember Your Friends This ThanksgivingThanksgiving poem

To: God.com Dear Lord, Every single evening As I'm lying here in bed, This tiny little Prayer Keeps running through my head: God bless all my family Wherever they may be, Keep them warm and safe from harm For they're so close to me. And God, there is one more thing I wish that you could do; Hope you don't mind me asking, Please bless my computer too. Now I know that it's unusual To Bless a motherboard, But listen just a second While I explain it to you, Lord. You see, that little metal box Holds more than odds and ends; Inside those small compartments Rest so many of my friends. I know so much about them By the kindness that they give, And this little scraps of metal Takes me in to where they live. By faith is how I know them Much the same as you. We share in what life brings us And from that our friendships grew. Please take an extra minute From your duties up above, To bless those in my address book That's filled with so much love. Wherever else this prayer may reach To each and every friend, Bless each e-mail inbox And each person who hits 'send'. When you update your Heavenly list On your own Great CD-ROM, Bless everyone who says this prayer Sent up to God.com Amen Poem Kindly sent in by Annick Morris

I am Thankful - Poem Of Thanksgiving

Will and Guy have been sent this poem of Thanksgiving which reflects the positive spirit of this celebration season: I am thankful: For the wife Who says it's hot dogs tonight Because she is home with me And not out with someone else. For the husband Who is on the sofa Being a couch potato Because he is home with me And not out at the bars. For the teenager Who is complaining about doing dishes Because it means she is at home, Not on the streets. For the taxes I pay Because it means I am employed. For the mess to clean after a party Because it means I have Been surrounded by friends For the clothes that fit a little too snug Because it means I have enough to eat. For my shadow that watches me work Because it means I am out in the sunshine. For a lawn that needs mowing, Windows that need cleaning, And gutters that need fixing Because it means I have a home. For all the complaining I hear about the government Because it means We have freedom of speech. For the parking spot I find at the far end of the parking lot Because it means I am capable of walking, And I have been blessed with transportation. For my huge heating bill Because it means I am warm. For the lady behind me in church Who sings off key Because it means I can hear. For the pile of laundry and ironing Because it means I have clothes to wear. For weariness and aching muscles At the end of the day Because it means I have been Capable of working. For the alarm that goes off In the early morning hours Because it means I am alive. And finally, for too much e-mail Because it means I have friend who is thinking of me. Footnote: Please send us your Poems of Thanksgiving

First Thanksgiving Thanksgiving poems

Venison for stew and roasting, Oysters in the ashes toasting, Geese done to a turn, Berries (dried) and wild grapes (seeded) Mixed with dough and gently kneaded~ What a feast to earn! Indian corn in strange disguises, Ash cakes, hoe cakes (many sizes), Kernels roasted brown... After months of frugal living What a welcome first Thanksgiving There in Plymouth town. Poem by Aileen Fisher

Thanksgiving Verse

Pilgrims move among us. Silent, their gray lips mouth prayers for the bountiful fields of autumn. Feathered Indians stand tall in quiet corners invoking harvest home in a strange tongue. This is our Thanksgiving. Gathered together, we are visited by the grace of old guests. Poem by Myra Cohn Livingston

The Ears of Wheat by The Brothers Grimm Thanksgiving Wheat Poem

Ages upon ages ago, says the German grandmother, when angels used to wander on earth, the ground was more fruitful than it is now. Then the stalks of wheat bore not fifty or sixty fold, but four times five hundred fold. Then the wheat- ears grew from the bottom to the top of the stalk. But the men of the earth forgot that this blessing came from God, and they became idle and selfish. One day a woman went through a wheat-field, and her little child, who accompanied her, fell into a puddle and soiled her frock. The mother tore off a handful of the wheat-ears and cleaned the child's dress with them. Just then an angel passed by and saw her. Wrathfully he spoke, 'Wasteful woman, no longer shall the wheat- stalks produce ears. You mortals are not worthy of the gifts of Heaven!' Some peasants who were gathering wheat in the fields heard this, and falling on their knees, prayed and entreated the angel to leave the wheat alone, not only on their account, but for the sake of the little birds who otherwise must perish of hunger. The angel pitied their distress, and granted a part of the prayer. And from that day to this the ears of wheat have grown as they do now.

A Thanksgiving in France

The first Thanksgiving after moving overseas, I decided to treat my family to a traditional turkey dinner. I went to the closest store, which happened to be French-speaking, and approached the area where a variety of meats were laid out. Not being fluent in French, I looked and tried to determine on my own whether the large poultry breasts I saw were turkey or goose. The butcher indicated that he was ready to help me. I asked in broken French if he spoke English; he replied, 'No.' I tried again, asking if he spoke German; again, he replied, 'No.' I pointed at the poultry breasts, then tucked my thumbs in my armpits, flapped my arms, and said, 'Gobble, gobble?' The butcher broke into a smile as he replied, 'Oui.' Embarrassing, sure, but I ended up with a turkey and the butcher got a laugh! A tale by Monica Harris

Desiderata - A Lovely Poem for Thanksgiving

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, And remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible, without surrender, Be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; And listen to others, Even to the dull and the ignorant; They too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons; They are vexatious to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, You may become vain or bitter, For always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; It is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs, For the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; Many persons strive for high ideals, And everywhere life is full of heroism. Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love, For in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, It is as perennial as the grass. Take kindly the counsel of the years, Gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, Be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe No less than the trees and the stars; You have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, No doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, Whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, In the noisy confusion of life, Keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, It is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy. Footnote: This is one of Will and Guy's favourite poems written by Max Ehrmann in 1927. We think it is applicable to all Thanksgiving celebrations.

The Old-Fashioned Thanksgiving

It may be I am getting old and like too much to dwell Upon the days of bygone years, the days I loved so well; But thinking of them now I wish somehow that I could know A simple old Thanksgiving Day, like those of long ago, When all the family gathered round a table richly spread, With little Jamie at the foot and grandpa at the head, The youngest of us all to greet the oldest with a smile, With mother running in and out and laughing all the while. It may be I'm old-fashioned, but it seems to me to-day We're too much bent on having fun to take the time to pray; Each little family grows up with fashions of its own; It lives within a world itself and wants to be alone. It has its special pleasures, its circle, too, of friends; There are no get-together days; each one his journey wends, Pursuing what he likes the best in his particular way, Letting the others do the same upon Thanksgiving Day. I like the olden way the best, when relatives were glad To meet the way they used to do when I was but a lad; The old home was a rendezvous for all our kith and kin, And whether living far or near they all came trooping in With shouts of 'Hello, daddy!' as they fairly stormed the place And made a rush for mother, who would stop to wipe her face Upon her gingham apron before she kissed them all, Hugging them proudly to her breast, the grownups and the small. Then laughter rang throughout the home, and, Oh, the jokes they told; From Boston, Frank brought new ones, but father sprang the old; All afternoon we chatted, telling what we hoped to do, The struggles we were making and the hardships we'd gone through; We gathered round the fireside. How fast the hours would fly- It seemed before we'd settled down 'twas time to say good-bye. Those were the glad Thanksgivings, the old-time families knew When relatives could still be friends and every heart was true. Poem by Edgar Albert Guest, 1881-1959 Will and Guy were struck by the tiny word 'of' in Poems of Thanksgiving. William Arthur Ward captured the thought with this sentence, 'Feeling gratitude and not expressing it is like wrapping a present and not giving it.' Footnote Please send us your poem of Thanksgiving

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