Thanksgivin’ Days from History’s Page
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!
