On Giving Thanks

An old story. But in a new way . . .

On Stringam ranch at mealtime,

At the end of every working day,

The talk was great, the chuck sublime.

The fragrant smells of food. And hay.

They ‘washed up good’ and took a seat,

Respectful nod and smile to mom,

Then rough hands folded nice and neat,

With lowered eyes and faces calm.

Then thanks expressed, I’m not sure who

Was acting voice this time around.

But when it finished, all the crew,

Passed ‘tatoes--white, and gravy--browned.

All had closed the prayer, “Amen.”

Except the man beside the girl--

The small girl, seated at the end,

The one will all the fiery curls.

She gave the man a heated scowl,

And pointing at him, shouted shrill,

“He didn’t say ‘Amen’!” she howled.

The poor man suddenly looked ill.

The little girl persisted, too,

She spoke to others seated there,

“Mommy! Daddy! Listen, do!”

“He didn’t close our supper prayer!”

There is a lesson to be learned,

If a Stringam dinner is your yen,

You’ll never have to be concerned,

If you simply say, “Amen.”

Mondays do get knocked a lot,

With poetry, we three besought,

To try to make the week begin,

With gentle thoughts--perhaps a grin?

So Jenny and Delores, we,

Now post our poems for you to see.

And when you’ve read what we have brought,

Did we help? Or did we not . . .

And next week in our neighbourhood,

We tackle 'Harvest'. It will be good!