T'was the night before Thanksgiving,
When all through the kitchen
Not a spoon was stirring, not even a spork.
The cornucopias were hung by the microwave with care,
In hope that St. Turkey soon would be there.
The chicklins were nestled all snug in their coop
While visions of grasshopper-cakes danced in their heads.
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our wings for a long winters nap.
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