A Tale of a Thanksgiving Turkey
In a quaint little town where the leaves turned to gold, a Thanksgiving turkey was feeling quite bold.
He strutted his stuff with a wobbly gobble, determined to stay off the dinner-time hobble.
The townsfolk prepared for a lovely feast, Pumpkin pie, sweet potatoes - dishes increased.
But the star of the show, our fine-feathered friend, would rely on his cunning, his fate to amend.
A clever disguise was his scheme of choice, Farmer Franklin, he'd fool with a sweet-sounding voice.
"I'm a rooster, so fine," he'd say, puffed out with pride, "No place for a turkey; there's no need to hide!"
As the sun slowly rose on that cold autumn morn, our turkey stood tall, a new persona he'd worn.
Sweating and nervous but sure of his ploy, he practiced his crow, so practiced and coy.
The farmer emerged with a gleam in his eye, on the prowl for a turkey to sizzle and fry.
He approached our dear bird with a confident swagger, but our turkey cawed loudly, with no wobbly gobble to stagger.
"Ah, rooster!" the farmer exclaimed with delight, "No turkey for us on this fine autumn night."
With a chuckle, he left, leaving our bird quite relieved, basking in victory - but let's not be deceived.
For the farmer knew better and played a sly part, a wink to his wife as they shared a warm heart.
In the end, they agreed, for each had their reason, our turkey would live to see one more season.
For Franklin, the farmer believed in compassion, he spared his dear friend from the Thanksgiving fashion.
And the turkey, he danced, like no bird has done, one more year of gobble, his freedom; he'd won.