you put on
your pilgrim hat
with the large
buckle around
the brim,
your boots
and blousy
white shirt.
it's turkey
killing time
once again.
bring back a fat
one jonathan
your wife
yells at you
as you grab
your musket
and hatchet.
oh, and knock
on your sister's
thatched hut
door, if you
don't mind, she's
the only one around
this village
that knows
how to make
real gravy. she
can't make
a pumpkin pie worth
a damn, but
she knows her
gravy.
i need the recipe.
and don't tell her
what I said
about her pies.
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