|"Blackbird Pie"(MWC Board)|
In some cultures the bird is a treasure
Its charcoal wings covered in soot
As it flaps through the air
Encircling the prey that is below
For they are carrion eaters
And they see through people's eyes
Piercing the veils in which we hide
Inside our warm and comforting stockings.
It is tradition that old Mother Hubbard
Look into her pantry for flour
Butter, and a silver pan.
She licks her fingers of the sauce
And tastes of chicken after the stir
And into the oven she will bake
A blackbird pie, or rather a cake.
Although it may be frowned upon
In most cultures they say
But old Mother Hubbard will hold
Onto the family tradition today.
Steam fills the house in which we sit
And I lick my lips, savory bliss
With a pitchfork in my right hand
And a butter knife in my left
I will taste of this pie
For surely Mother Hubbard knows best.
The sweet aroma of cranberries,
The delicate whiff of something grand
For this fourth day of Christmas time.
The roasting of the blackbird is tradition
That passes on generation to generation.
Family gathers around the table
Hand in hand, prayer and devotion
For the blessings of winter that pass
With every single finger licking.
Question: "What tradition does your Christmas carry?"