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The stupid bird was there again; it seemed that it was everywhere.
It poked its beak in everything and left deposits there.
Cloud Face had hunted all day long without a bit of luck.
He hadn’t seen a single goose and had missed the only duck.

He wished the stupid bird would go, he was quickly getting furious.
The irritating sounds it made at things that made it curious.
The message came the other day, inviting them to eat.
The Pilgrims would make vegetables, if they would bring the meat.

Indians, everybody knew, could track game anywhere.
He’d quickly bag a big bull moose or maybe shoot a bear.
But the stupid bird was there again with its silly clucks and gobbles,
The kids make fun of how it walks and imitate its wobbles.

At last Cloud Face had found a deer and he took careful aim,
He never saw the stupid bird or from just where it came.
If curiosity killed the cat, it sure made this bird dead.
It’s sad reward for saving Bambi, an arrow through its head.

So Cloud Face had no meat to take for this Thanksgiving Day,
But then he saw the stupid bird and a joke that he could play.
He’d get his squaw to cook the bird and take it to the feast;
That he would trick the crazy Pilgrims, no worry in the least.

The reason why we eat this bird, on Thanksgiving has been murky.
Cloud Face tried to shoot a deer; instead he got a turkey.
Just think if Deer had gotten the job, that first Thanksgiving Day,
Would Turkey then have been selected to pull old Santa’s sleigh?


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