A Thansgiving poem

A THANKSGIVING POEM

Twas the night of Thanksgiving. I Just couldn't sleep. I tried counting backwards. I tried counting sheep.

The leftovers beckoned, the dark meat and white. But I fought the temptation with all of my might.

Tossing and turning with anticipation, the thought of a snack became infatuation.

So I raced to the kitchen, flung open the door, and gazed at the fridge full of goodies galore. I gobbled up turkey and buttered potatoes, pickles and carrots, beans and tomatoes.

I felt myself swelling so plump and so round. 'Til all of a sudden, I rose off the ground.

I crashed through the ceiling, floated into the sky, with a mouthful of pudding and a handful of pie.

But I managed to yell as I soared past the trees:

"Happy eating to all, pass the cranberries, please.
May your stuffing be tasty, may your turkey be plump;
May your potatoes 'n gravy have nary a lump. May your yams be delicious. May your pies take the prize.
May your Thanksgiving dinner stay off of your thighs!

Peg