“Thanksgiving” by Edgar Guest

 

“Thanksgiving” by Edgar Guest (1881-1959)

 

Gettin' together to smile an' rejoice,

An' eatin' an' laughin' with folks of your choice;

An' kissin' the girls an' declarin' that they

Are growin' more beautiful day after day;

Chattin' an' braggin' a bit with the men,

Buildin' the old family circle again;

Livin' the wholesome an' old-fashioned cheer,

Just for awhile at the end of the year.

 

Greetings fly fast as we crowd through the door

And under the old roof we gather once more

Just as we did when the youngsters were small;

Mother's a little bit grayer, that's all.

Father's a little bit older, but still

Ready to romp an' to laugh with a will.

Here we are back at the table again

Tellin' our stories as women an' men.

  

Bowed are our heads for a moment in prayer;

Oh, but we're grateful an' glad to be there.

Home from the east land an' home from the west,

Home with the folks that are dearest an' best.

Out of the sham of the cities afar

We've come for a time to be just what we are.

Here we can talk of ourselves an' be frank,

Forgettin' position an' station an' rank.

 

Give me the end of the year an' its fun

When most of the plannin' an' toilin' is done;

Bring all the wanderers home to the nest,

Let me sit down with the ones I love best,

Hear the old voices still ringin' with song,

See the old faces unblemished by wrong,

See the old table with all of its chairs

An' I'll put soul in my Thanksgivin' prayers.

Interested in the BryonySeries Newsletter?

Last year over Thanksgiving weekend, I wrote out a four-page, comprehensive, well-researched marketing plan for the BryonySeries, of which I've expanded this past year.

One part of the plan was a weekly BryonySeries newsletter. I'm starting one in early 2018.

The newsletter will contain updates about the series and quite a bit of curated content as I'm an avid cross-promoter. These will include related articles on topics pertaining to the series; useful information on writing, editing, and publishing for authors; themed recipes; vintage poetry and short stories; ways to connect with other WriteOn Joliet authors; and even products in related themes, most of which are available on Etsy.

How to sign up: message me at bryonyseries@gmail.com.

Or stop y my table at one of the upcoming author fairs. Information on those fairs are HERE.

As a courtesy for signing up, I'll send you the first chapter in the fifth and final novel in my work-in-progress BryonySeries prequel, Before the Blood.

Of course, opting out of the newsletter is always an option.

Either way, thank you for your support. Writing a satisfying story for you, the reader, is the entire point of the series.

BryonySeries Throwback Thursday: "The Power of the Dog," by Rudyard Kipling

Friday, August 31, 2012

"The Power of the Dog," by Rudyard Kipling

In Bryony, Melissa and her brother, Brian experience the loss of a dog. Nearly five years ago, I bade farewell to my only dog and very best four-footed friend. Several years ago, Sarah Stegal, Bryony's online administrator, lost her beloved Peenut. Today, a good friend says "goodbye" to his dog.

For anyone that has experienced the loss of a pet, this post is for you.


The dog is the only animal that has seen his god. ~Author Unknown


The Power of the Dog by Rudyard Kipling

There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.

Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie--
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart to a dog to tear.

When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet's unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find--it's your own affair--
But ... you've given your heart to a dog to tear.
When the body that lived at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!)
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone--wherever it goes--for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart to a dog to tear.
We've sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we've kept 'em, the more do we grieve:
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-term loan is as bad as a long--
So why in--Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?