Before the day of giving thanks I think
of many people, things, and happenings
but always realize a missing link
between the resting and the flapping wings.

Appointed day arrives and I recount
the lacking list of memory's recall
but bravely speak and hope this day's account
will jar remembrances both great and small.

And after feast and fun are in the past,
the I forgots begin to prick my heart
but bring again the chances to recast
this me I show, this self, this work of art.

If after thanks we are but as before,
our treasures faded foolishly we store.

- Robert Stone, 28 November 2010