Mom has a mental breakdown from cooking all that week
Dad eats up half the turkey, then shares the rest with us
My brothers belch with dignity, much to my disgust
And I in all my glory bring out my pumpkin pies
And try to guard from vultures and beady greedy eyes
Baby love the smashed potatoes, not that they're great to eat
But he loves the way they feel between his toes and feet
We stuff our guts capacity, and growl and snarff and munch
And then remind "Dear Mother" dishes are always hers at lunch!
To Mom, Gladys S. Wayment (and her clan!)
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