Emulating WS's form, if not his transcendent lyricism, I offer this “Thanksgiving Sonnet” for those reading this blog. I am thankful for you!
The holiday that calls for giving thanks
When yellow leaves or few or none do hang
Upon the boughs, and thereby yanks
The heart toward sappy sentiment and pangs
Of earnest hunger and regret for all
That has and has not been, calls too for an
Account of that which serves us as a mighty wall
Against despair. Count the solace where you can.
The squeaky child’s voice that sparks a smile;
Adoring gaze or purr of family beast;
Surprising ways that nature can guile;
The human arts permitting sensual feasts;
The cause, the quest, the whirl of busy days;
The ones injecting light into the grays.