Another year, another Thanksgiving's Day and we since that day have been giving thanks to God and forgot every year to say thanks to the food bearers.
It this not now the time to end the forgetfulness and publicly say thanks to our brother ans sisters Native Americans? after all, we have been living in their home long enough without paying rent, the least we can do is to offer our gratitude...

The place of hunger was in Plymouth
in sixteen twenty one year of the Lord
we had hungry children, and many sick,
we prayed but our spirit was very low,
then someone said, “the Indians are coming!”
went outside, had a sight to much behold,
carrying on their arms there was food
an offer of friendship sent us by God.

The Good Book tell us that every man
is our brother, break bread with him to,
the Father didn’t make us all that different,
we are the ones making of lambs and wolves;
it says that you must help the weak and infirm
and be the arms helping up the one that falls,
He didn’t create everything without a reason,
we should listen with our heart to His voice.

A little Thanksgiving poem my indian friend,
to let you that forgotten you will be not,
as every year we sit around a plentiful table
filled by the natives kindness and by our God,
when we were hungry and sick in Plymouth
and felt abandoned here, and utterly alone,
our prayers were answered by our Father
in sixteen twenty one, year of the Lord.