Twas the night before Thanksgiving,when all through the farm,
Not a creature was stirring, no one to raise the alarm.
My traps were all set in the pathway with care,
In the hopes that morn would catch the farmer there.
The humans were nestled all snug in their beds,
With visions of cranberries filling their heads.
With my hen in the nest box and I on my roost,
We'd just settled down when such a noise was produced.
From outside the door there came such a yell,
That I gave a great start; from my perch nearly fell.
Away to the door I quickly did lope,
To see what had caught itself on my trip rope.
The moonlight shining down made a scene rather freaky,
As I peeked 'round the door, all cautious and sneaky,
And what, by my wondering wings, should be there,
But Farmer Bob on the ground, dirt and hay in his hair.
Though his face was a wondrous fright to behold,
The sight that sickened me as if caught a cold,
Was the cleaver he held tightly clenched in one fist,
Which he brandished as he yelled out with a twist of the wrist.
“Now Tom! now Henny! now young un’s, ‘specially Jake,
Com’on guys, you know I can’t use the drake,
Don’t be like this, be good, and it won’t hurt a bit,
Now come to me, come, right here where I sit!”
Chilled that our lives had almost been taken,
I looked on and shuddered, thoroughly shaken,
At the sight of the farmer, treacherously cunning;
Only thoughts of my loved ones kept me from running.
I adjusted my wings, my plumage proudly I puffed,
And strode boldly before him, for I will not be stuffed.
I strutted a bit, and taunted a little,
As he strove to his feet, beginning to spittle.
He swung madly his cleaver and I quickly took flight,
Flapping and dodging, left, center and right,
Leading him on through the doors I did run,
He pushed the doors open, and so began the fun.
As they swung open before him with a loud, high-pitched creak,
He got dumped on his head manure of a putrid reek,
That he staggered into the next trigger set steady,
And got socked in the middle with a board I’d made ready.
He spun around twice and dropping the cleaver,
He gripped onto a beam with a face like a fever.
Unluckily, for him, that beam I’d greased up pretty rough,
And he slipped right on by straight into the water trough.
With a splutter he surfaced and pulled himself out,
Landing on the ground, he paused and looked about,
Before proceeding to stand, mustering his will like a drover,
When at my call all the animals stampeded him over.
He was dirty and red-faced, a right battered chap,
And I laughed at the sight of him covered in crap.
A twitch of the eye and shake of the head,
Soon let me know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word but got straight to his feet,
Adjusting his hat, he knew he was beat,
And laying his hand on the side of his head,
He turned to go back inside to bed.
He paused, and leaned on the door with a groan,
And glanced back at the wreckage sourced from my genius alone,
I heard him mutter as he disappeared from sight,
