The great writers, one piece at a time.
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One day is there of the series Termed Thanksgiving day, Celebrated part at table, Part in memory.
Neither patriarch nor pussy, I dissect the play; Seems it, to my hooded thinking, Reflex holiday.
Had there been no sharp subtraction From the early sum, Not an acre or a caption Where was once a room,
Not a mention, whose small pebble Wrinkled any bay, -- Unto such, were such assembly, 'T were Thanksgiving day.