Eighteenth Thanksgiving

 The family gathers giving thanks

And she sings of times gone by.

Of little girl things and thoughts and dreams

And the cocktails and hor de vors are served.

Daughter, sing a song that you have penned

And let us peer into your soul.

For we don’t know these hands that clutch the wine

For yesterday they cradled dolls.

And the turkey roasts and the pies bake

She asks for the keys to the car.

Wasn’t it yesterday she needed only her skates

To take her as far as she wanted to go.

The turkey is carved and the table is set

And mis-matched chairs make room for more.

Her father watches her strum the strings

And mourns the loss of her sweet childhood.

Hands are joined and heads are bowed

As grandfather gives thanks to the Lord.

We speak words of present and future plans

But her words are songs—

Songs of times gone by.

 


                                                  By Ruby Jean Sanders