Nov 27, 2013
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‘Twas the night before thanksgiving, and all through the house
not a creature was stirring, except the mouse.
The turkey was thawing in the fridge that night,
in hopes that tomorrow everything would go alright.
Mama was frantic awake in her bed,
while visions of burnt food danced in her head.
Papa slept soundly, oh what a shame.
Nothing worried him except tomorrow’s big game.
When out in the kitchen there arose such a clatter.
I jumped out of bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the kitchen I flew like a flash,
flipped on the lights and heard a dish crash.
The turkey lay on the floor, sullied and tarnished,
pies, salad, and stuffing lay around like a garnish.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but a wicked mouse standing with a sneer.
He grabbed some food and looked my direction,
He winked (I swear it’s true) and he gave this confession.
Your food looked delicious, I couldn’t help it.
I planned to take it from the moment I smelt it.
But hopefully with time you’ll forgive me for this,
and remember what Thanksgiving really is.
My mom went to the kitchen and yelled my name.
I tried to explain but was scolded all the same.
She didn’t believe what I’d seen at all.
She said I’d be grounded until the next fall.
Now I know what thanksgiving should be,
Giving thanks, being with family, and football on TV.
As I crept back to bed I heard a small voice,
echo in my room, creating almost no noise.
And who should it be but that wicked mouse,
who ruined Thanksgiving for my entire house.
I listened closely and heard him say;
thanks, it was delicious.