|"a house where all's accustomed, ceremonious" |
~ Yeats ~
Head bowed, eyes shut,
calloused hands prayerfully placed,
'Bless You, O Lord, for the bounty of our table,
the varied fruits we can be thankful for on this
Thanksgiving Day of a troubled year'
– his voice, so infrequently heard,
croaked with the hollow imperfections
of an old organ in an abandoned church –
~ Truman Capote ~
~ The Thanksgiving Visitor ~
Here we sit as evening falls
Like old horses in their stalls
Thank you Father that you bless
Us with food and an address
And the comfort of your hand
In this great and blessed land.
Look around at each dear face,
And keep each one in your good grace.
We think of those who went before,
And wish we could have loved them more.*
Grant to us a cheerful heart,
Knowing we must soon depart
To that far land to be with them.
And now let’s eat. Praise God. Amen.
*I admire the subtle options suggested here: Perhaps we wish they had been more lovable, or that we ourselves could have been more loving; that we had loved them better than we did, or longer; that we had been granted more time. All valid.
|The Frost Moon of Falling Leaves|