November Is Scary, But Marriage Is Bliss (A Love Story)

November Is Scary, But Marriage Is Bliss (A Love Story)

Surrounded by underwear, carelessly strewn,
a groggy, confused bear was humming a tune,
while sudsing his duds by the light of the moon.
“Sir,” said brave Tillie, so helpful was she,
“I love to wash clothes so if you’ll allow me
“I’ll soon get your laundry as clean as can be.” 
Barnaby Bear dropped at once to his knees
on his wadded-up sox and his raggedy tees.
“Oh, beautiful Turkey, do marry me please.”

A year passed and Tillie went out for supplies
to celebrate marriage with honeycomb pies.
At once hunters nabbed her, with fire in their eyes.

The ground started rumbling like never before, 

like navies of gravy boats plowing to shore,
like mountains of yams tumbling down to the floor,
like pumpkin-sized bowling balls rolling to score,
like drumsticks on kettledrums, fifty or more,
like stainless steel cranberries pounding the door,
like stuffing exploding from deep in earth’s core.

Then Barnaby Bear bounded out with a roar!  

The hunters ran off in a terrified pack. 
He scooped up his Tillie and carried her back, 
then flopped on the couch while she fixed him a snack.
So if you’re a turkey who’d just as soon miss
the feast at Thanksgiving, then think about this:
November is scary, but marriage is bliss.







The Glorious Tree

My entry for the generous annual holiday contest presented by one of the premier children’s books web sites. I highly recommend visiting her informative and beautiful site. (See below)


    W E L C O M E


by Carol Samuelson-Woodson
On the First Day of Christmas, my parents say to me,
“You’re quite old enough for your own Christmas tree.”
On the Second Day of Christmas, I decorate with glee.
Two Turtle Doves flutter wings nervously.
On the Third Day of Christmas, my decorations flee.
Three French Hens, two Doves flying free.
On the Fourth Day of Christmas, I wake the family.
Four Calling Birds squawk incessantly.
On the Fifth Day of Christmas, I hang some finery.
Five Golden Rings, solid gold with guarantee.
On the Sixth Day of Christmas, I fail to foresee
Six Geese-a-Laying till the eggs reach my knee.
On the Seventh Day of Christmas, oh, what can it be?
Seven Swans a-Swimming and a stiff plumber’s fee.
On the Eighth Day of Christmas, I view with certainty
Eight Maids-a-Milking. Catastrophe!
On the Ninth Day of Christmas, in disbelief I see
Nine Ladies Dancing to a brisk melody.
On the Tenth Day of Christmas, a lively company,
Ten Lords-a-Leaping tilt the tree crazily.
On the Eleventh Day of Christmas, in perfect harmony,
Eleven Pipers Piping, inspiring revelry.
On the Twelfth Day of Christmas, the house rocks dangerously.
Twelve Drummers Drumming threaten sanity.
Christmas is here and the neighbors agree.
Time to dress up and join the jamboree.
Finally it’s time. I shovel up debris,
smelly and wet—’twas a glorious tree!