Meccenzie Harper

“The turkeys were chunky
With smiley, beaked faces,
And they greeted the children
With downy embraces.

So out through the barnyard
They ran and they flew,
And they gobbled and giggled
As friends sometimes do.

Then somebody spotted
An ax by the door,
And she asked Farmer Nuggett
What it was for.

With a blink of his eye
And a twist of his head,
The old farmer told
A grim tale of dread:

“Tonight,” said Mack Nuggett,
“These feathery beasts
Will be chopped up and roasted
For Thanksgiving feasts.”

The children stood still
As tears filled their eyes,
Then they clamored aloud
In a chorus of cries.

“Oh dear,” cried Mack Nuggett,
“Now what shall I do?”
So he dashed to the well,
And the teacher went, too.

And they fetched some water
Fresh from the ground,
In hopes that a swig
Might calm everyone down.

And when they returned
To quiet the matter,
The children were calmer
(And mysteriously fatter!).”
― Dav Pilkey, 'Twas The Night Before Thanksgiving