Twelve Days of Christmas #4: Roasting of the Blackbird

"Blackbird Pie"(MWC Board)

On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...

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?"