The withered hand of usage stays our great Thanksgiving feast
Until the sun is nearly set and mouths are fairly greased;
In households from Savannah to the valleys of the Ute,
We snack on potted shrimp and deviled eggs and cel'rey root.
We guzzle punch and soda, find the Whitman Sampler box,
And by the time the turkey's done we're ready for detox!
No one has the willpower to fast while Jenni-O
Such aromas on our nose doth blithely so bestow.
With gizzards crammed we find our seats, and someone says the grace –
And then we invite heartburn as we stuff our greedy face.
Heed my plea and serve the bird before the stroke of noon,
Lest another Pilgrim day will find me in a swoon!
Save the snacks for evensong or late night Letterman;
You will find I am become a light and better man.
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