The calendar dictates that now is the time
To give thanks for life and its boons,
Such as clemency granted for some of our crimes,
And to pray that the others aren't discovered soon.
With family and friends, of whom we've spoken ill,
We gather at the table over bottle and hymn.
In fellowship, fondness, with pie on the sill,
We rejoice at the levity of the old hangman's limb.
For though we be rats, shrews, groundhogs or moles;
In our conduct, craven, cowardly and foul;
The aroma of yams now filling our holes
Blinds us to the shadow that's cast by the owl.
Just because we're petty, jealous and hateful
Doesn't have to mean we're ungrateful.
So tomorrow, give thanks for the good things you've found
Among all those you coveted all year around.
GRATEFUL, adj. In the first flush of future resentment.