by the Moeller family
The heights are alive,
With the smell of turkey
Tastes we have eaten
For thirty three years
Fam'ly fills our hearts,
With sound of laughter
Our hearts want to rise
Every word we hear
Our mouths want to taste
Two wings of the turkey
That once flew through farms to small trees
Our hearts wants to sigh
Missing those aren't here
From our sweet clan not a plane
Football in the park field
As we trip and fall
Over grass and dirt on our way
To run through the goal
Like a one
Who is learning to play
We go to the stove
When our bird is toasty
We know we will see
What we've seen before
Our hearts will be blessed,
With the smell of fowl
And we'll serve once more.
Happy Thanksgiving from the Moellers
Every word we hear
Our mouths want to taste
Two wings of the turkey
That once flew through farms to small trees
Our hearts wants to sigh
Missing those aren't here
From our sweet clan not a plane
Football in the park field
As we trip and fall
Over grass and dirt on our way
To run through the goal
Like a one
Who is learning to play
We go to the stove
When our bird is toasty
We know we will see
What we've seen before
Our hearts will be blessed,
With the smell of fowl
And we'll serve once more.
Happy Thanksgiving from the Moellers
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