Dairy Daze...and Now Beyond

In the fall I crunch through leaves and inhale the autumn spice I love so much more than any spice found in a kitchen. The scent of fallen leaves,  the musty forest duff stirred up underfoot, bruised cedar limbs and the tangy smoke from the  neighbor's wood fire, the cold air smelling of snow blowing on the wind.    

 Way back, it seems an age and an age, When time was an ivory page, unscathed By tarnished hopes or plans undone Back when victories were yet unwon. Way back then I made myself a bet That I'd live my life and not regret Anything anything I'd yet to do; And for the most part it is true.

 The thoughts I think, I've thought before My brain is a revolving door. The deeds I do, I've done before My life is a revolving door. When I was young I believed That things would change as I lived And so they have, things have changed But me?  I've stayed the same. 

Shall my small praise that I lift up Be heard by God in heaven Is it not drowned by higher laud That greater men have given? And these small good deeds I do During this my humble life; Are they enough to make a mark In this world that's filled with strife?

There are turkey and pies and cobblers left But no one could possibly hold any more. Everyone who'd snarfed at the table is now Draped 'round the living room furniture and floor, There was a mess left all over the kitchen  So the cook and an aunt or two Put on aprons and a pot of coffee Because there was so much left to do. The fridge is now stuffed with leftovers And care packages made to send home With the different friends and family We are so glad who got to come.   The dishes are washed, the tables wiped And now some games are underway, Everyone is awake and laughing because it's sure Been good to be together on this Thanksgiving Day!

 Paper Pilgrim hats with cockeyed brims, Drawing turkeys by tracing your hand And dangling the wattle from your thumb. Limp construction paper feathers in Native American headband taped to fit  Around our little heads.   A kindergarten Thanksgiving!  

 He cannot find his paperwork or his special pen I've looked through every pile, what a mess we're in. Things seem to disappear without the smallest trace I'm glad I leave my glasses always fixed upon my face