Today I will toast the magnificent beast
Who has given herself to provide us this feast.
I honor the life and the days she did live
And I laud her with joy for the gift she did give.
The hues of her plumage in trees of the fall
Foretold her great beauty, our fine Butterball.
Midst cranberries now she has taken her place
With potatoes and stuffing on oak and on lace,
This creature of grace, illusive and free,
Who has dipped once her head for you and for me.
I thank you, sweet hen of the wood and the glade.
It’s your presence here has my great pleasure made.
I will not waste of your sacrifice
Though some of you soon may be resting on ice.
I’ll gratefully savor each succulent bite,
Consuming each bit of your dark and your white.
I’ll pull at your wishbone as tradition demands
And lick your sweet taste from my fingers and hands.
I’ll wallow in excess, if just for today
Because of the kindnesses you’ve passed our way.
Tomorrow I may have a sandwich, or two,
And you know that I’ll still be thinking of you.
Oh many and more are the joys that you bring
Think nothing of being the bird that can’t sing.
I honor you now for who you have been
And what you are now, my sweet forest hen.
Now raise up your glasses to her one and all
And cheer the fowl fortune that’s entered our hall.
Fly on in your freedom, fine beasts of the field,
And live as you will ‘til you’re plucked and you’re peeled.
I’ll grant that your grace and you beauty are great,
But I’ll love you much more when you’re gracing my plate.
So raise up your glasses and raise up your fork
For it’s up with the bird and away with the pork.
Enjoy who you are, what you do, while you’re living
And be grateful for what has been giv’n for Thanksgiving.