Thanksgiving has inspired some fantastic Thanksgiving poems. Below, you’ll find some well-known and not-so-well-known poems.
After Thanksgiving
I ate too much Turkey; I ate too much corn,
I ate too much pudding and pie.
I’m stuffed up with muffins and too much stuffin’
I’m probably going to die.
I piled up my plate and I ate and I ate.
But I wish I had known when to stop,
For I’m so crammed with yams, sauces, gravies, and jams
That my buttons are starting to pop!
I’m full of tomatoes and French fried potatoes
My stomach is swollen and sore,
But there’s still some dessert so I guess it won’t hurt if
I eat just a little bit more!
The Pilgrims Came
The Pilgrims came across the sea,
And never thought of you and me;
And yet it’s very strange the way
We think of them Thanksgiving day.
We tell their story, old and true
Of how they sailed across the blue,
And found a new land to be free
And built their homes quite near the sea.
Every child knows well the tale
Of how they bravely turned the sail
And journeyed many a day and night,
To worship God as they thought right.
A Thanksgiving Dinner
By Maude M. Grant
Take a turkey, stuff it fat,
Some of this and some of that.
Get some turnips, peel them well.
Cook a big squash in its shell.
Now potatoes, big and white,
Mash till they are soft and light.
Cranberries, so tart and sweet,
With the turkey we must eat.
Pickles-yes-and-then, oh my!
For a dessert a pumpkin pie,
Golden brown and spicy sweet.
What a fine Thanksgiving treat!
Thanksgiving
The year has turned its circle,
The seasons come and go.
The harvest is all gathered in
And chilly north winds blow.
Orchards have shared their treasures,
The fields, their yellow grain.
So open wide the doorway-
Thanksgiving comes again!
Thanksgiving Time
When all the leaves are off the boughs,
And nuts and apples gathered in,
And cornstalks waiting for the cows,
And pumpkins safe in barn and bin,
Then Mother says, “My children dear,
The fields are brown, and autumn flies;
Thanksgiving Day is very near,
And we must make thanksgiving pies!”
Five Turkeys
Five big turkeys sitting on the gate.
The first one said, “It’s getting late.”
The second one said, “Who goes there”?
The third one said, “There are farmers everywhere.”
The fourth one said, “Let’s run, run, run.”
The fifth one said, “It’s just Thanksgiving fun.”
Then Gobble Gobble went the wind.
And out went the lights.
And the five fat turkeys were out of sight.
Ballad of the Mayflower
By Linda G. Paulsen
There was a ship, Mayflower by name; Hey, Ho—
Took a trip, she crossed the main; Hey, Ho—
Full of people seeking peace,
Praying for freedom to increase;
Hey, Ho, Dee-o, Dee-o!
The Pilgrims came to Plymouth Rock; Hey, Ho—
Simple people, sturdy stock; Hey, Ho—
To be free they crossed the sea,
Thanked the Lord on bended knee; Hey, Ho, Dee-o, Dee-o!
How when the crops were gathered in; Hey, Ho—
A dinner party did begin; Hey, Ho—
Pilgrims, Indians, pumpkin pie, Turkey, venison, corn, oh my!
Hey, Ho, Dee-o, Dee-o!
Bet you thought my song was done; Hey, Ho—
Nature XXVII, Autumn
By Emily Dickinson
The morns are meeker than they were,
The nuts are getting brown;
The berry’s cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.
The maple wears a gayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I’ll put a trinket on.
First Thanksgiving
By Margaret Hillert
If I had been a Pilgrim child
Among the fields and forests wild
Where deer and turkey used to roam,
A cabin would have been my home
With fireplace and earthen floor
And bearskins hanging at the door.
I would have gathered berries bright
For candles fragrantly alight,
And dug for clams and picked the corn
And laid the table smooth and worn.
Or hunted nuts hard-shelled and good
And helped in any way I could,
With time to laugh and play and run
When Indian children came for fun.
And on the first Thanksgiving Day
I would have met with friends to pray
And thank the Lord for all his care
In keeping us together there.
For the Beauty of the Earth
Lyrics by Folliot S. Pierpoint (1835-1917)
For the beauty of the earth,
for the glory of the skies,
for the love which from our birth
over and around us lies;
Lord of all, to thee we raise
this our hymn of grateful praise.
For the beauty of each hour
of the day and of the night,
hill and vale, and tree and flower,
sun and moon, and stars of light;
Lord of all, to thee we raise
this our hymn of grateful praise.
For the joy of ear and eye,
for the heart and mind’s delight,
for the mystic harmony,
linking sense to sound and sight;
Lord of all, to thee we raise
this our hymn of grateful praise.
For the joy of human love,
brother, sister, parent, child,
friends on earth and friends above,
for all gentle thoughts and mild;
Lord of all, to thee we raise
this our hymn of grateful praise.
For thy church, that evermore
lifteth holy hands above,
offering upon every shore
her pure sacrifice of love;
Lord of all, to thee we raise
this our hymn of grateful praise.
For thyself, best Gift Divine,
to the world so freely given,
for that great, great love of thine,
peace on earth, and joy in heaven:
Lord of all, to thee we raise
this our hymn of grateful praise.
Be Thankful
Be thankful that you don’t already have everything you desire.
If you did, what would there be to look forward to?
Be thankful when you don’t know something,
for it gives you the opportunity to learn.
Be thankful for the difficult times.
During those times you grow.
Be thankful for your limitations,
because they give you opportunities for improvement.
Be thankful for each new challenge,
because it will build your strength and character.
Be thankful for your mistakes.
They will teach you valuable lessons.
Be thankful when you’re tired and weary,
because it means you’ve made a difference.
It’s easy to be thankful for the good things.
A life of rich fulfillment comes to those who
are also thankful for the setbacks.
Gratitude can turn a negative into a positive.
Find a way to be thankful for your troubles,
and they can become your blessings.
‘Twas the night of Thanksgiving
‘Twas the night of Thanksgiving,
but I just couldn’t sleep…
I tried counting backwards,
I tried counting sheep.
The leftovers beckoned…the dark meat and white,
but I fought the temptation with all of my might.
Tossing and turning with anticipation,
the thought of a snack became infatuation.
So, I raced to the kitchen, flung open the door
and gazed at the fridge, full of goodies galore.
I gobbled up turkey and buttered potatoes,
stuffing with gravy, green beans and tomatoes.
I felt myself swelling so plump and so round,
till all of a sudden, I rose off the ground.
I crashed through the ceiling, floating into the sky
with a mouthful of pudding and a handful of pie
But, I managed to yell as I soared past the trees…
Happy eating to all — pass the cranberries, please.
Turkey In The Barnyard
Turkey in the barnyard, what does he say?
Gobble, gobble, gobble, gobble, gobble all day.
Turkey on the table, what do I say?
Yummy, yummy, yummy, yummy, yummy all day.
Turkey in my tummy, what do I say?
I ate too much on Thanksgiving Day!
Over the River and Thru the Wood
Over the river and through the wood
To Grandfather’s house we go.
The horse knows the way
To carry the sleigh
Through white and drifted snow.
Over the river and through the wood
Oh, how the wind does blow!
It stings the toes
And bites the nose,
As over the ground we go.
Over the river and through the wood
To have a first-rate play.
Hear the bells ring,
Ting-a-ling-ling!
Hurrah for Thanksgiving Day!
Over the river and through the wood,
Trot fast, my dapple gray!
Spring over the ground
Like a hunting hound,
For this is Thanksgiving Day.
Over the river and through the wood,
And straight through the barnyard gate.
We seem to go
Extremely slow
It is so hard to wait!
Over the river and through the wood
Now Grandmother’s cap I spy!
Hurrah for fun!
Is the pudding done?
Hurrah for the pumpkin pie!
The Pilgrims Give Thanks
By Marjorie Lindsey Brewer
Just look upon the land and see the yield
Of pumpkins, corn, and squash in every field.
The shocks of corn are glistening in the sun
With coats of frost on every one.
Come, let us have a feast with praise
To God, who blessed the crops we raise.
Have Massacoit and all his men
Bring deer and visit us again.
Together, we will roast the meat—
Wild turkey, venison we’ll eat.
Some pumpkins, corn, and hoe-cake bread
Will grace the board when thanks are said.
A last, we have our feast prepared.
We thank our God for how we’ve fared,
For crops that He has helped us grow
And for the seed we have to sow.
Our Horn of Plenty overflows
With product from the land we chose.
We give our thanks to God above
For all His care and help and love.
Thanksgiving Prayer
By Susan D. Anderson
I’m thankful for my mother, and
I’m thankful for my dad.
I’m thankful for my sisters, and
for all the fun we’ve had.
I’m thankful for my brother, Tom,
(even when he’s jerky.)
But most of all, I’m oh-so-thankful
not to be a turkey.
Thanksgiving Is….
Thanksgiving is a
time of gratitude to God,
our Creator and Provider,
whose guidance and care
go before us…
and whose love
is with us forever.
Thanksgiving is a time
to reflect on the changes,
to remember that we, too,
grow and change
from one season of life to another.
Thanksgiving is a time
of changing seasons,
when leaves turn golden
in Autumn’s wake
and apples are crisp
in the first chill breezes of fall.
Let us remember the true meaning
of Thanksgiving.
As we see the beauty
of Autumn, let us acknowledge
the many blessings
which are ours…
let us think of our families
and friends..
and let us give thanks in our hearts.
When Daddy Carves the Turkey
When Daddy carves the turkey,
It is really quite a sight,
I know he tries his hardest,
But he never does it right.
He makes a fancy show of it,
Before he starts to carve,
And stabs in all directions,
While we’re certain that we’ll starve.
He seems to take forever,
As we sit and shake our heads,
By the time he’s finished slicing,
He’s reduced the birds to shreds.
He yells as loud as thunder,
Just before he’s finally through
For when Daddy carves the turkey,
Daddy carves his finger too!
How To Observe Thanksgiving
Count your blessings instead of your crosses;
Count your gains instead of your losses.
Count your joys instead of your woes;
Count your friends instead of your foes.
Count your smiles instead of your tears;
Count your courage instead of your fears.
Count your full years instead of your lean;
Count your kind deeds instead of your mean.
Count your health instead of your wealth;
Count on God instead of yourself.
A Turkey Speaks
I have never understood
why anyone would
roast the turkey
and shuck the clams
and crisp the croutons
and shell the peas
and candy the sweets
and compote the cranberries
and bake the pies
and clear the table
and wash the dishes
and fall into bed
when they could sit back
and enjoy a hamburger.
Gathering Leaves
By Robert Frost
Spades take up leaves
No better than spoons,
And bags full of leaves
Are light as balloons.
I make a great noise
Of rustling all day
Like rabbit and deer
Running away.
But the mountains I raise
Elude my embrace,
Flowing over my arms
And into my face.
I may load and unload
Again and again
Till I fill the whole shed,
And what have I then?
Next to nothing for weight,
And since they grew duller
From contact with earth,
Next to nothing for color.
Next to nothing for use.
But a crop is a crop,
And who’s to say where
The harvest shall stop?
To Gramma’s House
To Gramma’s house we go,
Heigh ho, heigh ho, heigh ho!
We’re on our way with horse and sleigh,
Through fluffy drifts of snow.
Oh, what a trip to take.
She’ll have a chocolate cake.
There’ll be some pies, of monstrous size,
And chestnuts we can bake
To Gramma’s house we go,
Heigh ho, heigh ho, heigh ho!
What lovely things Thanksgiving brings;
The nicest things we know!
Pumpkin Poem
One day I found two pumpkin seeds.
I planted one and pulled the weeds.
It sprouted roots and a big, long vine.
A pumpkin grew; I called it mine.
The pumpkin was quite round and fat.
(I really am quite proud of that.)
But there is something I’ll admit
That has me worried just a bit.
I ate the other seed, you see.
Now will it grow inside of me?
(I’m so relieved since I have found
That pumpkins only grow in the ground!)
Giving Thanks
For the hay and the corn and the wheat that is reaped,
For the labor well done, and the barns that are heaped,
For the sun and the dew and the sweet honeycomb,
For the rose and the song and the harvest brought home —
Thanksgiving! Thanksgiving!
For the trade and the skill and the wealth in our land,
For the cunning and strength of the workingman’s hand,
For the good that our artists and poets have taught,
For the friendship that hope and affection have brought —
Thanksgiving! Thanksgiving!
For the homes that with purest affection are blest,
For the season of plenty and well-deserved rest,
For our country extending from sea unto sea;
The land that is known as the “Land of the Free” —
Thanksgiving! Thanksgiving!
Oh, What a Feast!
By Deborah P. Cerbus
Turkey and gravy
Corn on my plate.
Oh, what a feast for me.
Cranberries and stuffing
I can’t wait.
Oh, what a feast for me.
Bread and potatoes
Dessert is great.
Oh, what a feast for me.
I love Thanksgiving
Fill up my plate.
Oh, what a feast for me!
Nothing Gold Can Stay
By Robert Frost
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold,
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
We Thank Thee
By Ralph Waldo Emerson
For flowers that bloom about our feet;
For tender grass, so fresh, so sweet;
For song of bird, and hum of bee;
For all things fair we hear or see,
Father in heaven, we thank Thee.
For blue of stream and blue of sky;
For pleasant shade of branches high;
For fragrant air and cooling breeze;
For beauty of the blooming trees,
Father in heaven, we thank Thee.
When Father Carves the Duck
By E. V. Wright
We all look on with anxious eyes
When father carves the duck,
And mother almost always sighs
When father carves the duck;
Then all of us prepare to rise,
And hold our bibs before our eyes,
And be prepared for some surprise,
When father carves the duck.
He braces up and grabs a fork
Whene’er he carves a duck,
And won’t allow a soul to talk
Until he’s carved the duck.
The fork is jabbed into the sides,
Across the breast the knife he slides,
While every careful person hides
From flying chips of duck.
The platter’s always sure to slip
When father carves a duck,
And how it makes the dishes skip!
Potatoes fly amuck!
The squash and cabbage leap in space,
We get some gravy in our face,
And father mutters a Hindoo grace
Whene’er he carves a duck.
We then have learned to walk around
The dining room and pluck
From off the window-sills and walls
Our share of father’s duck.
While father growls and blows and jaws
And swears the knife was full of flaws,
And mother laughs at him because
He couldn’t carve a duck.
A Thanksgiving
By John Kendrick Bangs
For summer rains, and winter’s sun,
For autumn breezes crisp and sweet;
For labors doing, to be done,
And labors all complete;
For April, May, and lovely June,
For bud, and bird, and berried vine;
For joys of morning, night, and noon,
My thanks, dear Lord, are Thine!
For loving friends on every side;
For children full of joyous glee;
For all the blessed Heavens wide,
And for the sounding sea;
For mountains, valleys, forests deep;
For maple, oak, and lofty pine;
For rivers on their seaward sweep,
My thanks, dear Lord, are Thine!
For light and air, for sun and shade,
For merry laughter and for cheer;
For music and the glad parade
Of blessings through the year;
For all the fruitful earth’s increase,
For home and life, and love divine,
For hope, and faith, and perfect peace,
My thanks, dear Lord, are Thine!
Turkey Warning
Tell me, Mr. Turkey,
Don’t you feel afraid
When you hear us talking
‘Bout the plans we’ve made?
Can’t you hear us telling
How we’re going to eat
Cranberries and stuffing
With our turkey meat?
Turkey, heed my warning:
Better fly away;
Or you will be sorry
On Thanksgiving day.
Harvest Home
By Henry Alford
Come, ye thankful people, come,
Raise the song of harvest home:
All is safely gathered in,
Ere the winter storms begin;
God, our Maker, doth provide
For our wants to be supplied:
Come to God’s own temple, come,
Raise the song of harvest home.
All the world is God’s own field,
Fruit unto His praise to yield;
Wheat and tares together sown,
Unto joy or sorrow grown;
First the blade, and then the ear,
Then the full corn shall appear:
Lord of harvest, grant that we
Wholesome grain and pure may be.
For the Lord our God shall come,
And shall take His harvest home;
From His field shall in that day
All offenses purge away;
Give His angels charge at last
In the fire the tares to cast;
But the fruitful ears to store
In His garner evermore.
Even so, Lord, quickly come
To Thy final harvest home;
Gather Thou Thy people in,
Free from sorrow, free from sin;
There, forever purified,
In Thy presence to abide:
Come, with all Thine angels, come,
Raise the glorious harvest home.
Singing, the Reapers Homeward Come
Singing, the reapers homeward come, Io! Io!
Merrily singing the harvest home, Io! Io!
Along the field, along the road,
Where autumn is scattering leaves abroad,
Homeward cometh the ripe last load, Io! Io!
Singers are filling the twilight dim
With cheerful song, Io! Io!
The spirit of song ascends to Him
Who causeth the corn to grow.
He freely sent the gentle rain,
The summer sun glorified hill and plain,
To golden perfection brought the grain, Io! Io!
Silently, nightly, fell the dew,
Gently the rain, Io! Io!
But who can tell how the green corn grew,
Or who beheld it grow?
Oh! God the good, in sun and rain,
He looked on the flourishing fields and grain,
Till they all appeared on hill and plain
Like living gold, Io! Io!
Landing of the Pilgrims
By Felicia Dorothea Hemans
The breaking waves dashed high,
On a stern and rock-bound coast,
And the woods against a stormy sky
Their giant branches tossed;
And the heavy night hung dark
The hills and waters o’er,
When a band of exiles moored their bark
On the wild New England shore.
Not as the conqueror comes,
They, the true-hearted came;
Not with the roll of the stirring drums,
And the trumpet that sings of fame;
Not as the flying come,
In silence and in fear;
They shook the depths of the desert gloom
With their hymns of lofty cheer.
Amidst the storm they sang,
And the stars heard, and the sea;
And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang
To the anthem of the free!
The ocean eagle soared
From his nest by the white wave’s foam;
And the rocking pines of the forest roared–
This was their welcome home!
There were men with hoary hair
Amidst that pilgrim band:
Why had they come to wither there,
Away from their childhood’s land?
There was woman’s fearless eye,
Lit by her deep love’s truth;
There was manhood’s brow serenely high,
And the fiery heart of youth.
What sought they thus afar?
Bright jewels of the mine?
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?–
They sought a faith’s pure shrine!
Ay, call it holy ground,
The soil where first they trod.
They have left unstained what there they found–
Freedom to worship God.
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