  "Oh, how the ways have changed with men Since the good days of nineteen ten, When I was living on the earth And joining in Thanksgiving mirth!" A nineteen hundred spirit cried As many people he espied While gazing on old Mother Earth Years twenty thousand since her birth. Long, long ago, as poets say, For good Thanksgiving holiday A feast was spread of nice mince pies. Of turkeys of tremendous size, Cranberry sauce, and giblet stew, Potatoes, corn and ice cream, too, With salads, raisins, nuts and cake, And all the pastry "Ma" could bake. These days, alas! they don't believe A mixture of such tasty things, And as folks float upon their wings They take some predigested pills, Which, so they say, keep off all ills. And now on good Thanksgiving Day There is no feasting, as folks say— "We wish to live for many years, And of all eating we have fears. The doctors say corn's full of worms Known as pellagra's awful germs, That turkeys cause appendicitis, Scarlet fever, stomachtitis; That products of the frying pan Cause great distress to every man; That puddings bring us naught but woe, And therefore we should let them go. We ne'er will sit around a table And eat as long as we are able, Then put it in the daily paper That Mrs. X. cut such a caper As to invite fair Madame P. 'Tis vulgar, common, so we think, To go about and eat and drink, While people watch us taking food Which we consider very rude; So to dark closets we retire When NATURE calls for more food-fire, And there on this Thanksgiving Day We all will go, though not to pray, But predigested powders take Instead of turkey, pie and cake." |
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