What is a harvest but a blessing
From the Olympians above clouds
And the titans beneath a star
It is a celebration of the toil of labor
Sweat-carved, fate-enabled, hope-outreached
When a tradition of colonial Plymouth
Plies from the legacy of the plough and sickle
From the sower to the gleaner
To the waiting lips of the commoner
As pumpkin pie, velvet mashed potato
And roasted turkey stuffed with
Chestnuts, sage, apples and bacon
And embellished with cranberry sauce
The partaking of a meal
Of grace and gratitude, of blend and banter
When the babel of tongues harmonize to a cantata of taste
Thanksgiving is after all a celebration of the sacred bond
Between the pilgrim and the native
The foreigner and the local
The migrant and the resident
For what is found on the perimeter of a table
Is the democracy of hunger
Naturalizing to the white meat of a wild galliforme
After all the true beauty of the American dream
Is the absence of color
In her meat.


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