Grandma’s Foresight
By Cathy Collar
Over the river and through the woods,
to Grandma’s house we go.
V-8 horse knows the way, power to stay,
to get us through the snow.
Over the river and through the woods,
straight into the barnyard gate.
Dad does not know, how to drive slow,
and now this is his fate.
Over the river and through the woods,
the pies fly to the floor.
And mother screams, as the whip cream,
goes splat across her door.
Over the river and through the woods,
Gramps runs into the yard.
He slips on the ice, says things not nice,
his butt hits the ground hard.
Over the river and through the woods,
the family’s in a state.
There is no pie, Gramps hurt his thigh,
now his turkey is baked.
Over the river and through the woods,
Grams makes all things right.
From the freezer comes, help for everyone.
It is quite a sight.
Over the river and through the woods,
ice for Granpa’s thigh.
Pies that will bake, as we all partake,
in a feast piled high.
Over the river and through the woods,
we give our thanks tonight.
For food and home and things unknown,
and for Grandma’s foresight.
