Once a year, when autumn whispers its final goodbye

And the earth dons a quilt of amber and crimson,

Thanksgiving arrives, not merely a feast,

But a moment—a mirror to the soul.

It is not the turkey, golden and grand,

Nor the table laden with pies and bread,

But the gathered hearts, the clasped hands,

The stories shared, the tears unsaid.

Thanksgiving is the breath between seasons,

A time to pause, reflect, and give grace—

To honor the trials that taught us wisdom,

And the quiet joys that lit our days.

It is the farmer, grateful for rain and sun,

The teacher, thankful for eager minds,

The healer, touched by battles won,

The artist, inspired by life’s designs.

Gratitude blooms not in excess,

But in the small and overlooked—

The laughter of children, the warmth of a fire,

The way love lingers in a single look.

It is not about what we lack or desire,

But the riches already in our hands—

The health we cherish, the dreams we hold,

The friends and family who help us stand.

Thanksgiving’s essence is found in the giving,

In sharing our bounty, our time, our care.

It is in seeing the world through kinder eyes,

In lifting others from their despair.

So, as we gather this sacred day,

Let us remember its truest art:

To live with gratitude beyond the moment,

And carry Thanksgiving in our heart.