Fall Poem of Gratitude

While we fall into the pile of leaves,

I smell the lentil roast cooking.

We rush inside after an excited exclamation,

And I plop into my seat and am grateful I have something to eat.

I gobble mashed potatoes,

While some are picking at rice.

The fire crackles in the hearth,

Even though some have none at all.

Christmas has Santa,

Easter’s got its rabbit,

The Fourth’s got its explosions,
But Thanksgiving’s just got God.