Poemsby Emily Dickinson

Thanksgiving Day

 One day is there of the series   Termed Thanksgiving day, Celebrated part at table,   Part in memory. 
 Neither patriarch nor pussy,   I dissect the play; Seems it, to my hooded thinking,   Reflex holiday. 
 Had there been no sharp subtraction   From the early sum, Not an acre or a caption   Where was once a room, 
 Not a mention, whose small pebble   Wrinkled any bay, - Unto such, were such assembly,   'T were Thanksgiving day.