The leaves that once so gently fell

A Thanksgiving Sonnet

The leaves that once so gently fell to ground,

Their blanket heavy with the rains of fall,

Wet under feet that are family bound

To celebrate harvest in my home’s hall.

A table rich with fruit, fowl, wine, and bread

From earth extracted without much respect.

I stand to speak and raise my glass of red:

‘It’s Thanksgiving, so what do you expect,’

‘The custom is to show our gratitude,’

‘Give our thanks for the gifts of earth and sea.’

‘But has this not become a platitude?’

‘So few birds in the sky, nary a bee.’

‘Habitats gone, without eulogy,’

‘Mother Earth, please hear my apology.’