A Poem for Thanksgiving
Winter will be fires and quilted beds,
Shutters shut against the cold.
Snowy winds chill the young and old.
Booted feet, scarved necks, hatted heads.
Hearths burp with the burning sod
Leaves sticking to cobbled streets
Against our windows a gray rain beats.
So giving thanks may seem odd.
But turn for a moment away from the earth,
Look at the glories placed before us.
Surely we are keepers of an ancient trust,
Guardians of the habits of the land of our birth.
Time has a way, or maybe we have a way
Of losing our place, our minds forgetting,
Cursing our duties, our future dreading.
We need the reminder of a Thanks Giving Day.
So let’s us pray as we are meant to do.
As a long dark autumn evening’s spreading,
We bow our heads, ask forgiveness for forgetting.
By accepting forgiveness our thanks is most true.