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.