Come closer, children, give an ear
A tale is told this time of year
About good Christians full of cheer
Which I will tell apace

Be still and hush and take a seat
Down here beside my slippered feet
And learn why always, ‘ere you eat
To say a word of grace

The Barrows were a Godly crew
Right and righteous, true and blue
They occupied the foremost pew
Each Sunday without fail

 At Christmas-tide they hit their stride
Gath’ring near from far and wide
And in their father’s house abide
The newborn King to hail

‘Twas not so very long ago
a-trudging through the crunchy snow
The Barrows came to table so
To eat their Christmas feast

Candied yam, stuffing, dinner roll
Potato drifts, both mashed and whole
Savory green-bean casserole
Cinnamon apple juice

The sideboard groaned with toothsome fare
And gleaming silver dinnerware
And basted with surpassing care
A jolly Christmas goose

Despite the bounty on both flanks
The Barrows in their pious ranks
Forgot to offer words of thanks
For reasons not pursued

They had no sooner taken seats
Than reached for greens and meats and sweets
Pled little Tim “Let’s first entreat!”
But none were in the mood

As Grandpa rose to carve the bird
Abundant helpings seemed assured
When of a sudden there was heard
A yummy crackling sound

The goose lay squirming on its plate
An entrée oddly animate
Imbued with a malicious hate
For all the Barrows ‘round

On drumsticks baked a golden brown
It first brought luckless Grandpa down
Ripped out the throat beneath his frown
Then leapt for Aunt Lenore

 Her pretty face in ribbons fell
Her piquant giblets pureed well
More quickly than the eye could tell
Her dress was soaked in gore

It ate the heart of Uncle Phil
Filleted his wife with vicious will
When Cousin Buck went through the mill
His guts oozed out like clay

And thus it went, around the room
Each Barrow meeting bloody doom
The sav’ry fowl a savage broom
Their lives to sweep away

An age it seemed to little Tim
His cup of terror filled to brim
And shiv’ring in his every limb
As kith and kin were flayed

 At last an awful silence fell
As loud as any funeral bell
And Tim surveyed the festive hell
Upon the table laid

Aunt Effy was a total loss
Eye-sockets stuffed with cran’bry sauce
Her braided hair now dental floss
Her tongue was in her ear

Brother Jubel was coarsely ground
The carving knife stood from his crown
In rich brown gravy he was drown
A horror without peer

On every side Tim’s family
Lay sliced and diced most expertly
The Barrow Clan, except for he
Had sung its last Noel

Lo! there upon its polished tin
Reclined the goose who’d orphaned him
Still crispy outside, moist within
Waiting the supper bell

Its vengeful angel having fled
And cleansing anger put to bed
The lethal bird was simply dead
And seasoned to a tee

Tim clasped his hands and bowed to pray
“Lord, bless this dinner, anyway”
And that made everything okay
A simple courtesy

He seized a drumstick, tore it loose
Pulled up a chair, parked his caboose
“If none of you is having goose
I guess that’s more for me!”

And such, my dears, may be the lot
Of all whom breaking bread will not
Thank Providence for what they’ve got
On merry Christmas Day

Now everyone, get on your feet
The table’s set, go take your seat
But if you’re smart, before you eat
You’ll find a word to say