Thanksgiving Poems and More

This page features a short collection of Thanksgiving Poems, and a link to a free printable calendar for the month of November.  

November is the eleventh month of the year, and has 30 days. In the United States, November is associated with Thanksgiving (4th Thursday of the month), as well as the falling of leaves.

The birthstone for November is the topaz (pictured here).

Scroll down to view a classy selection of poems for November. For related clipart, coloring pages, calendars, horoscopes, and other free printable items, click any of the links at the bottom of this page.

classic Thanksgiving Poems

Soliloquy of a Turkey (by Paul Laurence Dunbar)

Dey 's a so't o' threatenin' feelin' in de blowin' of de breeze,

An' I 's feelin' kin' o' squeamish in de night;

I 's a-walkin' 'roun' a-lookin' at de diffunt style o' trees,

An' a-measurin' dey thickness an' dey height.

Fu' dey 's somep'n mighty 'spicious in de looks de da'kies give,

Ez dey pass me an' my fambly on de' groun',

So it 'curs to me dat lakly, ef I caihs to try an' live,

It concehns me fu' to 'mence to look erroun'.

Dey 's a cu'ious kin' o' shivah runnin' up an' down my back,

An' I feel my feddahs rufflin' all de day, 

An' my laigs commence to trimble evah blessid step I mek;

W'en I sees a ax, I tu'ns my head away.

Folks is go'gin' me wid goodies, an' dey 's treatin' me wid caih,

An' I 's fat in spite of all dat I kin do.

I 's mistrus'ful of de kin'ness dat 's erroun' me evahwhaih,

Fu' it 's jes' too good, an' frequent, to be true.

Snow 's a-fallin' on de medders, all erroun' me now is white,

But I 's still kep' on a-roostin' on de fence;

Isham comes an' feels my breas'bone, an' he hefted me las' night,

An' he 's gone erroun' a-grinnin' evah sence.

'T ain't de snow dat meks me shivah; 't ain't de col' dat meks me shake;

'T ain't de wintah-time itse'f dat 's 'fectin me;

But I t'ink de time is comin', an' I 'd bettah mek a break,

Fu' to set wid Mistah Possum in his tree.

W'en you hyeah de da'kies singin', an' de quahtahs all is gay,

'T ain't de time fu' birds lak me to be erroun';

W'en de hick'ry chips is flyin', an' de log 's been ca'ied erway,

Den hit 's dang'ous to be roostin' nigh de groun'.

Grin on, Isham! Sing on, da'kies! But I flop my wings an' go

Fu' de sheltah of de ve'y highest tree,

Fu' dey 's too much close ertention --

an' dey 's too much fallin' snow --

An' it 's too nigh Chris'mus mo'nin' now fu' me.

Nature XXVII, Autumn (by Emily Dickinson)

The morns are meeker than they were,

The nuts are getting brown;

The berry's cheek is plumper,

The rose is out of town.

The maple wears a gayer scarf,

The field a scarlet gown.

Lest I should be old-fashioned,

I'll put a trinket on.

First Thanksgiving (by Aileen Fisher)

Venison for stew and roasting,

Oysters in the ashes toasting,

Geese done to a turn,

Berries (dried) and wild grapes (seeded)

Mixed with dough and gently kneaded~

What a feast to earn!

Indian corn in strange disguises,

Ash cakes, hoe cakes (many sizes),

Kernels roasted brown...

After months of frugal living

What a welcome first Thanksgiving

There in Plymouth town.


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