C
cly
Guest
Here's something I wrote last year for Thanksgiving. It may not be the most historically accurate thing in the world, but I think it's close.
*******
“But Even Then, They Gave Thanksâ€Â
By: CLY
November 15, 2004
They weren’t sure which they liked best:
The sound of the birds
Or the yell of “Land ho,â€Â
Either way, excitement claimed the boat.
For weeks on end, they had floated.
The persistent sickness and the putrid smell,
Little room, little rest,
But mainly little food.
The small throng of people-
Fleeing their country’s oppression-
Gathered together, yet alone,
On this untamed land’s sandy shore.
The air was already cool,
And getting colder with each passing day.
Winter was setting in and necessities had to be met:
Homes to live in and food to eat.
More sickness and hunger
Prevailed that winter.
Few endured the brutal season
Of blizzards and sub-zero temperatures.
Then, land had to be cleared and cultivated.
“From scratch†came with a new meaning here,
And all seemed to refuse to grow
In that stubborn excuse for soil.
But spring brought with it
A man named Squanto.
He showed them corn
And how to make it grow.
That year food grew,
And in abundance at that.
Harvest was coming soon,
Linked arm-in-arm with hope.
Wood stacks were high
And quilts were thick.
Friends were nearby
And fewer people were sick.
The people awoke and put their best clothes on.
For days they had been planning,
Working, and cooking-
Preparing for the day’s big banquet.
The people gathered ‘round-
Both brown and white.
What a joyful celebration
To honor God’s love.
They had faced hardship and turmoil,
Oppression and fear.
They had been alone and had nothing,
But even then, they gave thanks.
HAPPY THANKSGIVING!
*******
“But Even Then, They Gave Thanksâ€Â
By: CLY
November 15, 2004
They weren’t sure which they liked best:
The sound of the birds
Or the yell of “Land ho,â€Â
Either way, excitement claimed the boat.
For weeks on end, they had floated.
The persistent sickness and the putrid smell,
Little room, little rest,
But mainly little food.
The small throng of people-
Fleeing their country’s oppression-
Gathered together, yet alone,
On this untamed land’s sandy shore.
The air was already cool,
And getting colder with each passing day.
Winter was setting in and necessities had to be met:
Homes to live in and food to eat.
More sickness and hunger
Prevailed that winter.
Few endured the brutal season
Of blizzards and sub-zero temperatures.
Then, land had to be cleared and cultivated.
“From scratch†came with a new meaning here,
And all seemed to refuse to grow
In that stubborn excuse for soil.
But spring brought with it
A man named Squanto.
He showed them corn
And how to make it grow.
That year food grew,
And in abundance at that.
Harvest was coming soon,
Linked arm-in-arm with hope.
Wood stacks were high
And quilts were thick.
Friends were nearby
And fewer people were sick.
The people awoke and put their best clothes on.
For days they had been planning,
Working, and cooking-
Preparing for the day’s big banquet.
The people gathered ‘round-
Both brown and white.
What a joyful celebration
To honor God’s love.
They had faced hardship and turmoil,
Oppression and fear.
They had been alone and had nothing,
But even then, they gave thanks.
HAPPY THANKSGIVING!