The same poem, but different meter.

Thanksgiving has lost its original meaning. Thanksgiving was once a day for thanking God for the bountiful harvest that allowed the farmer and his family to have enough to eat during the harsh winter to come, but Thanksgiving now means football and turkey, cranberries and pumpkin pie. Not that there’s anything wrong with football and pumpkin pie, especially in iambic pentameter.

And so we meet again this time of year
To feast on cole slaw, stuffing and the rest
Accompanied by turkey, wine and beer
And saving for the last the very best
The pie and hot, strong coffee, double treat
Make all of us forget Thanksgiving Day
Was once a day before men sat to eat
They thanked the Lord and grateful kneeled to pray
And praised the Lord for summer’s bountied grace
For winter winds were surely bound to come
That only God sent crops could truly face
When winter’s hard times came for more than some
Those days are past, we live now at our ease
With winter’s winds receding back in time
We think not of those times and pass the peas
Forgetting times that once were ice and rime