A Thanksgiving Poem
Warning: this one sounds really dirty, but it isn't (unless you have a dirty mind!)
So that said, read at your own risk.
A Thanksgiving Poem
He laid her on the table,
So white and clean and bare.
His forehead wet with beads of sweat,
He rubbed her here and there.
He touched her neck and then her breast,
And then he felt her thigh.
The slit was wet and all was set,
He gave a joyous cry.
The hole was wide -- he looked inside,
All was dark and murky.
He rubbed his hands and stretched out his arms,
...And then he stuffed the turkey.
Posted November 23, 2006 8:00 AM
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