A Glorious Celebration (a poem of praise)

Their wooden ships sailed from a great country there,

Seeking securest shores, and for every one a rest.

Men, women, children, Pilgrims, homeless, so bare,

And in this new world, were each to be so blessed.

Greeted, these immigrants to land, by native bands,

With wealth to share, fine gifts to bare, in their hands.

All was related then, and to all colors, seen as blind,

The very best of the human spirit, expressed in kind.

Their struggles, so harsh, and demanded so much,

When all seemed lost, then came the savior's touch.

They learned to farm, and hunt, to share the land,

All honored, and in respect, each did understand.

In Winter months they struggled, in Summer, thrived,

Learn to store up food, to preserve it, then survived.

They built strong homes of trees and of earthen clay,

Had sustenance, to see them through, most every way.

A celebration day was set, by Pilgrims and natives, there,

Each to bring their harvest, and was meant for all to share.

All sorts of meats, the fruits of their hard labors, did abound,

This special time, still sublime, as trumpets of angels, sound.

At Plymouth Rock, this finest harbor, safe, and so grand,

the Wampanoag tribes, native people, all in trust, did stand,

Extended their hands, in friendship, as all brothers to do,

welcoming the tired travelers, the hungry ones, the few.

A first Thanksgiving shared back then, now soon to begin,

each soul treated, with a deepest respect, and as a friend,

Was no race or creed, no belief, of any greed, or to pretend,

this marvel of togetherness, so displayed, and to transcend.

In our thoughts today, scenes to portray, sincerest humanity,

If only to last, friendship of the past, all goodness, still a reality.

Fine lessons learned, in today's world, spurned, lacking morality,

Thanksgiving days gone by, still ours to try, in our own spirituality.

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