|Photo Credit - |
Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. (neg. no. LC-USZC4-4961)
The Spirits Of Thanksgiving Past
by Rebecca Knox
One cold November dawn doth bring,
Spirits from the past,
Of Pilgrim's pride and Indians,
Upon the ground their shadows cast.
I see their table laden with,
The ghostly bounty feast,
As hither comes the morning sun,
Shining in the east.
On this table set before,
I see the places set,
Of young and old, the poor and meek,
Of English settlement.
The Indians in wildish splendor,
Present their native cuisine,
As part of celebration,
In this quaint and rustic scene.
I see before me all the souls,
Of those, who for the sake,
Of freedom, left their native home,
For the chance that they must take.
Of those who starved and froze to death,
Before the feast began,
They are there amongst the trees,
To share the feast at hand.
As sun doth shine, a brightness heralds,
and shadows of the past,
Slip silently away, then gone,
No more to see, at last.
~Written November 1990