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Thanksgivin’ Days from History’s Page

by Wyoming Livestock Roundup

Poem by Anthony H. Euwer

from November 1919 “Saratoga Sun”

Once every year the President

Proclaims a general day

For folks to get together and

Hold services and pray.

And eat roast turkey by the peck

With cranberries and dressin’,

To show how gratitudinous

They are for every blessin’.


But when we gaze down through the maze

Of history and fiction,

You’ll find lots more Thanksgivin’ times

That came without prediction;

Thanksgivin’ times when fate did seem

Most direful, dark and murky,

Nor celebrated with ice cream

Nor cranberries nor turkey.


When poor John Smith was just about

Almost burned at the stake,

And Pocahontas begged the chiefs

To save him for her sake,

And when he clasped the maiden dear

And pressed her to him tight,

I guess it was Thanksgivin’ Day

For Johnny Smith all right.


When to the Curfew Bessie clung

Until the great bell ceas’d,

Then ran and told old Cromwell bold

Who’d just come from the East,

And for her deed got him to heed

Her Basil’s woeful plight,

I guess it was Thanksgivin’ Day

For Bess and Bas all right.


When little Willie Tell so brave

Stood ‘neath the apple red,

And watched the arrow pointed toward

The region of his head,

Then felt the pish – the juice go swish

Down o’er his cheeks so white,

I guess it was Thanksgivin’ Day

For little Billie all right.


When that there kid chucked in his fist

Right through the dike’s small hole,

And so saved Haarlem from the flood

That mighty soon would roll,

Saw someone comin’ so that he

Could rest and stretch a mite,

I guess it was Thanksgivin’ Day

For little Dutch all right.


When Jonah for three goozly days

Flopped ‘round the whale’s dark tum,

Then finally felt him give a gulp

Till Jonah had to come,

A landin’ him all safe and live

Out in the air and light,

I guess it was Thanksgivin’ Day

For that Jonah boy all right.


When honest George decided that

It was best to tell the truth

To keep himself from gettin’ licked,

Way back there in his youth,

And then thought how he had escaped

The birch’s woeful smite,

I guess it was Thanksgivin’ Day

For honest George all right.


When what’s-his-name of ancient fame

Beheld the lion’s woe,

And got down on his knees and plucked

The thorn from out his toe,

And when for that the lion he,

Did neither growl nor bite,

I guess It was Thanksgivin’ Day

For both of them all right.


And when one day, that hollow tree

Bruce saw and crept inside ‘er,

While o’er the hole a web was wove

By that kind hearted spider,

Which his pursuers seenin’ there,

Passed by as well they might,

I guess It was Thanksgivin’ Day

For Bobby Bruce all right.


When Sister Anne from Blue Beard’s tower

For succor long did gaze,

To save her sister from the power

Of her hub’s scandalous ways,

And down the road a cloud of dust –

Oh joy! Oh dear delight!

I guess it was Thanksgivin’ Day

For Blue Beard’s wife all right.


And when the check for these here lines

Comes through the wintry weather,

To keep my soul and body both

On friendly terms together,

I can go and feed my face

In a really swell place that night,

Cause it ‘twill be Thanksgivin’ Day

For truly yours, all right!


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