Foreword: My brother and I composed this lovely ballad to be read at the Thanksgiving table. You must imagine it delivered with great dramatic flair, in a strong Scottish brogue.



A Scotsman’s Thanksgiving

I’th twelfth year o’th reign o’ sweet bonny Wendel Greign
When the currents of the Dey ran cold
On a grey wintry morn when the sun shone forlorn
Was the Day o’ the Black Turkey Massacre

T’was November i’th year now remembered in fear
When a great joyous feast was held
All the folks gathered round, stamped their feet on the ground
To recall when the dark hoards were felled

The children all laughed till their heads were all daft
With a merry loud whoop and hurrah
And the lovers nuzzled up with a warm cider cup
While the old told the tale of McGragh

When a dark shadow fell, cast a pall cross the dell
And all shook in their boots and they quaked
For the sun was blot out, young Tim gave a shout
T’was the Day o’ the Black Turkey Massacre

With eyes full of fire and a gobbley of ire
He stood fully forty feet tall
And his beak like a blade red with flesh he had flayed
From the villagers of Gonnagy-Dall

After twenty score year filled with mis’ry and tear
For his kin torn from many a stable
He had come to avenge, for his brothers’ revenge
And this year HE would carve at the table

With his kilt all a’flyin’ he was fierce as a lion
As his talons tore McMann to the bone
And his shrill gobble gobble made the whole town to wobble
While the blood on his black feathers shone.

He ripped off the leg of sweet little Meg
And devoured Seaun’s thigh in one gulp
Malcom’s giblets were scattered, Mary’s wishbone was shattered
Donlbaine was all mashed to a pulp

When the carnage was over every inch o’th clover
Was dripping with juice from each carcass
And down to the loch flowed a thick gravy stock
That would stain and forever would mark us

So each year on this day when we sit and we pray
And reflect on our fortune and feast
Offer thanks to your bird and remember the words
O’th Day o’th Black Turkey Massacre