XVII

Thanksgiving Day was drawing near With memories of a happy year. The children to the woodshed went And to the axe their backs they bent, In golden crescents cut their prize To make it into pumpkin pies; Yet saved the seeds to plant next spring, That these might other pumpkins bring. A smaller pumpkin had they still, And carved it out with wondrous skill. Made eyes and mouth, put in a light, A funny lantern ’twas at night!