Thank you for the Brussels sprouts Tepid, limp and giving gas, And my in-laws, chiefly louts, And the turkey that, alas, Roasted dry from dawn ‘til dark Now resembles Joan of Arc; Thank you for the stuffing with Celery long past its prime, A bolus or a fecal lithe Digestible by Christmastime, And the shimmering glob of cran- Berry taken from a can. For the football games I’m grateful, Simians of thought devoid, And my neighbor and his hateful Talk about his hemorrhoid As the would-be politicians Fulminate on foolish missions. Father up above, we thank Ye For the proof we should not need: Life doth leave us sore and cranky, Miserable in thought and deed; Let us never misconstrue That true Joy resides in You.
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