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Moggie 9:15

Posted by goldielocks @ 13:24 on November 27, 2014  

Happy thanksgiving and I agree. Then men don’t usually have to make the pies or cook the bird or tend to the 100 other things through the day. We have time to sit here all day and read don’t ya know. If they shot the bird ¬†they figure that’s good enough.

So here’s something for you to read silverngold from live from the Oasis.

Charlie’s Thanksgiving Prayer

Ol’ Charlie Walker is out on the trail
when Thanksgivin’ Day comes around.
He’s got no potatoes or turkey and gravy,
and his table is just the hard ground.

He’d gone to the mountains to bring down the cows,
and it’s takin’ more time than he’d thought.
The snowstorm is somethin’ he hadn’t planned for,
so he’s glad for what grub that he’s brought.

Charlie says, “Well, I can like it, or not,
I can offer up thanks any where.
But it’s Thanksgiving Day, so I might as well like it.
So saying, he started this prayer.

“Dear Lord, I thank you for my darlin’ wife,
I tell you, you picked quite a looker.
And she’s been my helper, and give me her love,
no matter the places I’ve took her.

“We really feel blessed with the sons that you’ve give us.
We’ve raised them the best that we could.
They’re all of ’em grown now, and out on their own.
Your blessings on them, if y’would.

“Our grandchildren, too–my goodness, bless them!
The world will soon be in their hands.
But I know with your help, they’ll all do just fine,
whatever the future demands.

“The herd that we’ve got aint’ much this year,
but they’re healthy as they can be.
I’m thankful for that, and I give thanks too,
for the health that you’ve given to me.

“Oh yeah, the horses! Why without them two,
I wouldn’t get anythin’ done.
With their sense of humor, and all of their tricks,
things wouldn’t be nearly as fun.

Old Charlie is still thinkin’ thoughts of his folks,
as he shakes out some feed for ‘is friends.
He builds him a shelter of sagebrush and rocks
on a hill where a small river bends.

He makes sure the animals all are okay,
takes his bedroll then, and lays down.
Ain’t long ’till he’s dreamin’ about his dear wife,
dressed up in her white wedding gown.

Charlie hears the notes of the Wedding March.
The snow continues to fall.
His breathing gets slower, and he doesn’t move.
Now, he hears nothin’ at all.

His three sons gather around where he lays,
each one of ’em callin’ his name.
The youngest, Bucky, says, “Wouldn’t you know?
Every year it’s exactly the same.”

The middle one, Dave, says, “I guess it’s the food.
makes ‘im fall asleep in ‘is chair.
He’s probably dreamin’ he’s out on the range,
on ‘is favorite dapple-gray mare.”

“I dunno,” says Bucky. “Did anyone notice,
he was hummin’ a song just now?”
Dave says, “He prolly was singin’ to sleep
his horses, or maybe a cow.”

Charlie wakes and stretches and says, “Where’s the snow?”
Son, Gary, says, “Just in your dreams.”
“Why, I guess it was,” Charlie says, and grins.
“Life ain’t, sometimes, how it seems.”

“Pumpkin pie is ready!” his wife calls out.
Then asks, “Charlie, where have you been?”
“Just sayin’ thanks for m’blessin’s,” he says.
“All that’s left t’say now is…Amen.”

© 2007, Hal Swift
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author’s written permission.



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Post by the Golden Rule. Oasis not responsible for content/accuracy of posts. DYODD.