Thanksgiving, hordes of lustrous food,
With family grouped as one.
Potatoes are mashed. Prayers have been said.
And father is eating a ton.
Sunday’s not here, it’s two days away
But football is on the TV.
And nephews and nieces are running around
With all of them jumping on me.
And when we are playing they tackle me down.
I deftly roll with the fall.
Then I look up and say a few words
As I’m thanking the Lord for it all.
Copyright © 2008 Ken McCardell