O Turkeys, beautiful and brave,
this is to be your loyal grave,
and for our sins we sacrifice
your bodies to our annual vice.
We let you roam and grow so fat
in regal splendour, just so that
when we are happy, gratitude
drowns out our excess amplitude.
To God Almighty we give thanks,
and eat all day not fish nor franks,
but fattened turkey meat like you,
once strutting with your feathered crew,
which now comes slaughtered, roasted, basted,
rich in gravy, nothing wasted,
carved and served on platters then
with cranberries and an 'Amen!'
But Thou, O Turkey on the Lawn,
we spare you as your lot is drawn;
successfully your god has pleaded
with God of Man that you be needed
to survive another year ----
all proof that we in secret fear
think we'll be labeled cruel and savage
inhuman, evil; and may ravage
nature God created for
the finch and flower, boy or boar,
which we act out with thoughtless glee
each Thanksgiving, except for thee
who tells the world our hearts are kind
and we pour love on all mankind,
so Innocent one, we are nice
and spare you from our sacrifice.