What pops down the chimney?
|Thanksgiving's here, all have arrived,|
it's quiet cause' they're sleeping still.
With stealthy steps I sneak downstairs,
and try to shake the morning chill.
The kitchen's warm and cozy now,
and baking smells will soon arise,
but first the turkey must be cleaned,
then in the oven it will glide.
Now I shall take a brief respite,
before I start to knead the dough,
I smile as all those little buns,
are ready, waiting in a row.
I know the dawn will wake them soon,
so coffee's on, all set to brew.
I pour myself a cup of Joe,
the first one down is daughter, Sue.
There's not much left to do but wait,
Enjoy each others company,
Our love abounds and life is great,
There's nowhere else we'd rather be.
Then all take turns to slip upstairs,
and dress up for the holiday.
When done, we come to serve the meal,
but first, all heads bow down to pray.
And in the middle of that prayer,
A noise, or rustling sound is heard.
All heads then turn in unison,
what could it be, is it a bird?
No! It's a bushy tailed squirrel,
the long fall from the chimney's height,
has left him stunned and paralyzed,
not to mention, shocked with fright.
We laid him in a little box,
he looked at us, as if to say,
“I didn't know that I'd drop in,
to visit you, Thanksgiving day."
Now each year we think of him,
When we bow down our heads to pray.
We hope our little furry friend,
Is thinking of us too, today.
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