An Ode to Turkeys
There was a time, year one thousand A.D U.S. turkeys faced a brand new plight. Usefulness seen. Native American's hunting delight. The white meat of a turkey is quite lean. So much healthier than man knew before, Nothing one ever could say, In any way, Would make Americans free turkeys anymore. Thanksgiving comes and goes. Wild turkey gobbling slows. Ben Franklin watched their plight. Nominated, though laughter did flare. Turkeys beneath the moonlight Were beautiful out there. Ben suggested, turks as the nation's bird. But eagles know, it was not so. And turks in history endured this nations birth. Although wild turkeys can run fast and fly, Toms might in spring be found. Fluffing, dancing around. Caruncle and waddle shiny, bright red Courting the hens, showing off, prancing, not dead. Although turkeys fly strong, The hunters by day kept watch in the fields. Until, Old Tom, no more sang passion's song And hens under bushes sat on eggs long. When chicks hatched out and played their mother shields. But on Thanksgiving Day... Run away!
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