Tonight we have a very special bad poem, one never before published anywhere. It's appropriately themed for the season. Corny as it is, let's cut the author a little slack, as she was only ten years old when she penned this, her first poem:
Pilgrim Thankfulness
The sea was stormy--
The waves were black,
But the pilgrims wanted freedom
And they wouldn't go back.
They wanted freedom
They wanted plenty,
So they landed in America
In sixteen twenty.
The Indians showed them
How to plant corn and wheat,
And found nuts and berries
For the pilgrims to eat.
They had a hard winter
for many died,
But some of them lived--
They had God for their guide.
Then, to show their thanks
A feast was prepared,
Where Pilgrims and Indians
Thankfully shared.
There was turkey and venison
Berries and grapes,
And squashes and pumpkins
Of all sizes and shapes.
They're a wonderful example
Of how to be fair,
Help those who have helped you
And thankfully share.
Cicily M. Corbett
Nov. 1958
Behold the Child ... See, at his feet, some little plan or chart,/Some fragment from his dream of human life,/Shaped by himself with newly-learned art ... And unto this he frames his song ... But it will not be long/Ere this be thrown aside,/As if his whole vocation/Were endless imitation.
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