TOMMYBOB'S THANKSGIVING VISION by ANNA MARIA PRATT

IT was Thanksgiving evening, and Tommybob slept,
While over his pillow Thanksgiving dreams crept;
They whispered, the while he grew rigid with fear:
"Look out, for the ghosts of the slaughtered are near!"

Alack! though he strained and he struggled to rise,
He was held down by pickles of marvelous size,
That stood like policemen each side of his bed,
With revolvers of cinnamon aimed at his head.

Then in walked a turkey, bespattered with mud,
And with gobbles which curdled poor Tommybob's blood,
The lack of a liver and a load of fine dressing
Made it beat with its drumsticks until 'twas distressing.
It perched on the footboard and whispered, "I'll stay
And hiccough, young man, till next Thanksgiving Day."

While an inward commotion young Tommy was feeling,
Some celery sprang from his chest to the ceiling,
And under the shade of its fast-growing trees
A pepper-box waltzed with a piece of green cheese;

Fried oysters rode bicycles made of mince pies,
And each took a "header" right into his eyes;
A plum pudding camped on a terrible ache,
And doubled its fists at a large jelly cake;
While raisins unnumbered fell over in fits—
Which frightened poor Tommybob out of his wits.

As the nuts fell like hail, some one sounded a gong,
And at once all the company joined in a song:
"Woe, woe to thee, Tommybob! Many a night
We'll dance on thy bed till thou tremblest with fright,
Till thou learnst that thy stomach should not be abused,
@3For know that thy gluttony 'll not be excused."@1

Then at Tommy they sprang. He uttered a groan,
And, lo! they all vanished, and he was alone.

Tommybob has decided a greedy young sinner
Has to pay a big price for a Thanksgiving dinner,
And that eating to live will make much finer living
Than living to eat, as he did on Thanksgiving.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

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