The Twelve Days of Turkey . . .

On the first day of Christmas, my mum could truly boast
She'd cooked the biggest, fattest Turkey she could ever roast.
On the second day of Christmas we didn't fancy Spam,
So we had the Turkey cold with just some pickles and some ham.
On the third day of Christmas the kitchen really sizzles,
We caught mum with her sleeves up making lots of turkey rissoles.
On the fourth day of Christmas we picnicked on the sand,
Along with cheese and cider, turkey sandwiches were grand.
On the fifth day of Christmas we really had to hurry
To cope with the effects of eating mother's turkey curry.
On the sixth day of Christmas I thought I could have cried,
I called out, "Ma, what's it for lunch?", and she said, "Turkey fried!".
On the seventh day of Christmas I really was convinced
We'd eaten up the bird, until we had to eat it minced.
On the eighth day of Christmas I positively knew
The turkey was all gone, but then we had it in a stew.
On the ninth day of Christmas, disguised well by the power
Of fiendish Chinese cooking, we had turkey sweet and sour.
On the tenth day of Christmas, a Hungarian yuletide smash,
The remnants of the turkey served in juicy thick goulash.
On the eleventh day of Christmas, by culinary mergers,
The final bits were moulded into chunky Turkeyburgers.
On the twelfth day of Christmas, you may find this absurd,
But we actually began to miss the silly filling bird,
We phoned that man in Norfolk and we asked him what to do,
He said, "Don't panic sir, I've got some booful news for you",
He asked my Access number, and I told him right away,
And now he sends us bits of turkey every other day.

So now there's just one problem; next Christmas, what to choose?
When turkey is no more a treat, we'll maybe turn to goose.
But will we find, if we do that, we'll get addicted too
To the taste of goosey gander? Then whatever should we do?
I'll have to leave you thinking, I need another shot,
I'm going to gobble turkey now, the breast, the legs, the lot.
And when I find the parson's nose I'll know I've reached a friend,
But till then I'll just gobble on; be warned, this is the end!
Previous Odes of the Monthsee also for Christmas

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