Beguiled at last, reflecting the best, when one turns out to be a Turkey.
Season's rest, let poetic justice make a spread for your little Monkey.
Tasty little Pea-brain hearts act the clever sort for their illustrious show.
Follow these directions clear and there'll be no leftovers for such a Toad.
Tell the butcher, thought by some to be God, 'of your dreaded plight.'
For considerable consideration 'pray for mercy' all through the night.
Put all plans on hold, collect your Turkey a day before Christmas day.
If you're lucky to have a larder, outdoor storage space, go all the way...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem