A rumble in the barn yard, with an ill wind blowing 'round,
for the angry bird is restless when the falling leaves abound
and the weather whispers autumn as November comes around.
There's more than just the chilly air to ruffle up his feathers,
as he clucks and gobbles warnings while the hens all crowd together,
and the sound of rattling roasting pans floats on windy weather.
The season of Thanksgiving is when turkeys meet their makers,
though it's firmly his intention to avoid the undertaker,
yet the angry bird is thoughtful as he stands upon his acre.
He muses over recent months, and pauses to reflect
as he lines up a long stretch of dots he's tempted to connect.
Who knew that even poultry can become so circumspect?
Not all years are diamonds, and not all years are stones,
and he counts his blessings many as he clucks in dulcet tones,
but the mental aches and pains are gnawing at his aging bones.
This year has trimmed some branches from upon his family tree,
and the site of his idyllic youth has seen some jeopardy,
but the angry bird knows life is not a constant jubilee.
His chicks are holding up just fine--a healthy, robust pair,
and his lifetime-chosen mate has shown him all the loving care,
yet his piercing gobble echoes through the dry and wintry air.
Then he scratches at the dust and turns his gaze to sights afar,
comforted he entered life beneath a lucky star,
and at least he knows he's certain to avoid the abattoir!
No, the reason for the season is of course for giving thanks,
and this year has had its happy moments joining in the ranks,
so he opts to filter out the good parts for his memory bank.
And at last as you sit down to join hands 'round crowded table,
and the anger turns to joy as we conclude our little fable,
may you celebrate Thanksgiving just as much as you are able!