(Written whilst my aunt was cooking Thanksgiving dinner..before she shooed me out of the kitchen with a wooden spoon. Now I am crouching in the garden as my cousin seems to have accidentally locked me out of the house)
Once you roamed so free
In a field, or wherever it is
that turkeys congregate.
Now you cook in the stove...
Auntie, stop poking me with that
Fine ,I shall get out of the kitchen
I look forward to your golden-brownish