Hollay
11-23-2005, 11:45 AM
I received this delightful poem from one_eyed_cat and with his permission, have posted it here for everyone else to enjoy :)
TURKEY “TELLS”
They’ve been fattening me up now for nearly a year,
Preparing me for an event I think I should fear.
My Mother gave birth to me on this very farm,
Then cared for and protected me from all harm.
Now I hear talk about a Thanksgiving meal,
And how the main course won’t be featuring veal.
My emotions are reeling, and I’m truly confused,
Why am I going to be eaten after being abused?
How could the farmer even think of turning me into food,
When I’ve been a pet to his kids and brightened their mood?
We’ve romped and played together all of my short life,
And I’ve even been a loving companion to his wife.
Doesn’t he understand I’m much more than just a bird,
And that I’m part of the family, and not part of the herd?
I’ve noticed him eyeing me lately, as if guessing my weight,
And paying particular attention to my girth and to my gait.
But more frightening, I’ve also seen him sharpening his ax,
And taking a perverse pleasure in honing it to the max.
Surely there must be a way to make him change his mind,
And realize I’m sweet and loveable and more than kind.
His children would miss me if he chops off my head,
And could never play with me again after I’m dead.
“Never become angry,“ my mother said when I was young,
“Always think things through before using your tongue.”
“Drastic situations require solutions that can be measured,”
“And provide opportunities that will always be treasured.”
So I’ve decided that the only logical way out of this mess,
Is to offer the farmer an option that will put him to the test.
I’ve often perched on the windowsill outside of the kitchen,
And watched and listened to whatever idea he was pitchin’.
I’ve also seen him hold his wife, and seen him rub and stroke her,
When he’s trying to sweet-talk her into letting him play a little poker.
Whenever she agreed, his mood became cheery and bright,
And he would invite a few friends over for a game that night.
Many a night I watched them playing at the kitchen table,
And his friends always seemed to win, while he was unable.
He obviously loved to play, but really wasn’t that good,
Playing hands he shouldn’t, and not playing ones he should.
You can say what you want ‘bout the intelligence of a fowl,
And can giggle and laugh and even roll around and howl.
But this particular bird is a lot smarter than you might think,
‘Cause I’ve learned a lot perched on that sill above the sink.
So I cautiously approached the farmer when the conditions were right,
And suggested a deal that enabled him to see things in a different light.
He wanted to be a better player, and I certainly didn’t want to get cooked,
And what I was proposing was better than the way things now looked.
You might find it hard to believe a man and a bird can converse,
But the farmer and I have always shared a common universe.
There are times when words aren’t needed to get your point across,
Especially when those times mean you are facing life’s ultimate loss.
So I pecked and I scratched around frantically in the farmyard dirt,
Spelling out the details of my proposal, hoping that it would work.
At first, he just stood there with a skeptical look on his face,
Then laughed out loud and danced around at a frenzied pace.
His wife opened the rear door and asked if he had lost his mind,
And he said the menu was being changed ‘bout how they would dine.
Now, some no doubt will say that what the farmer and I did,
Was sneaky and underhanded and shouldn’t be taught to your kid.
But our motives were pure, and we never thought we were cheats,
‘Cause I didn’t want to be eaten, and he didn’t want bad beats.
From that day forward, when he and his friends gathered to play,
His chair always faced the window so he could look my way.
I would take my place on the windowsill as I had in the past,
And would give him signals, as long as the game would last.
From my vantage point I could see each and every hole card,
And the laughter when he won was heard all over the yard.
I waddle all around the farm now, all happy and plump,
Giggling and grinning, and wiggling my overly fat rump.
The farmer smiles a lot too, and there is much peace on the farm,
‘Cause he has vowed no animal there will ever come to any harm.
The children and I play together, and that really pleases his wife,
And there is even talk of another little-one soon entering our life.
When you celebrate the holidays this year, enjoy your Thanksgiving,
‘Cause I’ll be celebrating too; but I’ll be celebrating Thanks Living!
TURKEY “TELLS”
They’ve been fattening me up now for nearly a year,
Preparing me for an event I think I should fear.
My Mother gave birth to me on this very farm,
Then cared for and protected me from all harm.
Now I hear talk about a Thanksgiving meal,
And how the main course won’t be featuring veal.
My emotions are reeling, and I’m truly confused,
Why am I going to be eaten after being abused?
How could the farmer even think of turning me into food,
When I’ve been a pet to his kids and brightened their mood?
We’ve romped and played together all of my short life,
And I’ve even been a loving companion to his wife.
Doesn’t he understand I’m much more than just a bird,
And that I’m part of the family, and not part of the herd?
I’ve noticed him eyeing me lately, as if guessing my weight,
And paying particular attention to my girth and to my gait.
But more frightening, I’ve also seen him sharpening his ax,
And taking a perverse pleasure in honing it to the max.
Surely there must be a way to make him change his mind,
And realize I’m sweet and loveable and more than kind.
His children would miss me if he chops off my head,
And could never play with me again after I’m dead.
“Never become angry,“ my mother said when I was young,
“Always think things through before using your tongue.”
“Drastic situations require solutions that can be measured,”
“And provide opportunities that will always be treasured.”
So I’ve decided that the only logical way out of this mess,
Is to offer the farmer an option that will put him to the test.
I’ve often perched on the windowsill outside of the kitchen,
And watched and listened to whatever idea he was pitchin’.
I’ve also seen him hold his wife, and seen him rub and stroke her,
When he’s trying to sweet-talk her into letting him play a little poker.
Whenever she agreed, his mood became cheery and bright,
And he would invite a few friends over for a game that night.
Many a night I watched them playing at the kitchen table,
And his friends always seemed to win, while he was unable.
He obviously loved to play, but really wasn’t that good,
Playing hands he shouldn’t, and not playing ones he should.
You can say what you want ‘bout the intelligence of a fowl,
And can giggle and laugh and even roll around and howl.
But this particular bird is a lot smarter than you might think,
‘Cause I’ve learned a lot perched on that sill above the sink.
So I cautiously approached the farmer when the conditions were right,
And suggested a deal that enabled him to see things in a different light.
He wanted to be a better player, and I certainly didn’t want to get cooked,
And what I was proposing was better than the way things now looked.
You might find it hard to believe a man and a bird can converse,
But the farmer and I have always shared a common universe.
There are times when words aren’t needed to get your point across,
Especially when those times mean you are facing life’s ultimate loss.
So I pecked and I scratched around frantically in the farmyard dirt,
Spelling out the details of my proposal, hoping that it would work.
At first, he just stood there with a skeptical look on his face,
Then laughed out loud and danced around at a frenzied pace.
His wife opened the rear door and asked if he had lost his mind,
And he said the menu was being changed ‘bout how they would dine.
Now, some no doubt will say that what the farmer and I did,
Was sneaky and underhanded and shouldn’t be taught to your kid.
But our motives were pure, and we never thought we were cheats,
‘Cause I didn’t want to be eaten, and he didn’t want bad beats.
From that day forward, when he and his friends gathered to play,
His chair always faced the window so he could look my way.
I would take my place on the windowsill as I had in the past,
And would give him signals, as long as the game would last.
From my vantage point I could see each and every hole card,
And the laughter when he won was heard all over the yard.
I waddle all around the farm now, all happy and plump,
Giggling and grinning, and wiggling my overly fat rump.
The farmer smiles a lot too, and there is much peace on the farm,
‘Cause he has vowed no animal there will ever come to any harm.
The children and I play together, and that really pleases his wife,
And there is even talk of another little-one soon entering our life.
When you celebrate the holidays this year, enjoy your Thanksgiving,
‘Cause I’ll be celebrating too; but I’ll be celebrating Thanks Living!