Poetry Friday - Thanksgiving

Yes, I know Thanksgiving is still a week away. But I will be away for the holiday so it seems like a good idea to post a Thanksgiving poem now.

Every year we go away for Thanksgiving. It started when I was young and we went to my mother's parents for the holiday. Going there required a seven-hour car trip. A trip that took us over several rivers and through woods, to Grandmother's house.

We still take that same trip with our children - but now dinner is at my uncle's house. Our Thanksgiving becomes a two-day feast (much like the original!) with lots of relatives, fun and love.

So, in honor of our annual trek - I present:

Over the River and Through the Woods
by Lydia Marie Child

Over the river, and through the wood,
to Grandfather’s house we go;
the horse knows the way to carry the sleigh
through the white and drifted snow.

Over the river, and through the wood,
to Grandfather’s house away!
We would not stop for doll or top,
for ’tis Thanksgiving Day.

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.
with a clear blue winter sky,
The dogs do bark and the children hark,
as we go jingling by.

Over the river, and through the wood,
to have a first-rate play.
Hear the bells ring, “Ting a ling ding!”
Hurray for Thanskgiving Day!

Over the river, and through the wood—
no matter for winds that blow;
Or if we get the sleigh upset
into a bank of snow.

Over the river, and through the wood,
to see little John and Ann;
We will kiss them all, and play snowball
and stay as long as we can.

Over the river, and through the wood,
trot fast my dapple gray!
Spring over the ground like a hunting-hound!
For ’tis 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—
Old Jowler hears our bells;
He shakes his paw with a loud bow-wow,
and thus the news he tells.

Over the river, and through the wood—
when Grandmother sees us come,
She will say, “O, dear, the children are here,
bring pie for everyone.”

Over the river, and through the wood—
ow Grandmother’s cap I spy!
Hurrah for the fun! Is the pudding done?
Hurrah for the pumpkin pie!

Minus the horses and stuff (luckily we get to make the trip in a station wagon) this is pretty much what our holiday is like.

Kelly has the Poetry Friday round-up today over at Big A little a.