BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE
A THANKSGIVING POEM
On my holiday there’s too many great deceits,
“Leave it to beaver,” style songs that sing
With candle lights and songs of glory
Yet reality says it’s not the story
A working class man who struggles today
Earning a false dream in a hurried way.
If only he could stop for awhile,
He might just learn how to reconcile.
It’s not the things that we see or hear
At this wonderfully, visibly magic, time of year.
It’s not the things we say we fear,
But it’s all the things that we hold so dear.
A hand held close, a kiss a touch.
So when the time comes to nod your head,
Remember the hands that broke the bread,
Because without the words that He had said,
None would have anything to give thanks for!
TWO THANKSGIVING STORIES:
To read a post about the birthmother in LEFTOVER TURKEY: