Beneath December’s twilight hue,
The kitchen stirs with tasks to do.
A bird of gold, both proud and grand,
Awaits the magic of the hand.
From grocer’s shelf to table’s gleam,
A yuletide feast, a cherished dream.
The turkey rests, its purpose clear,
A centerpiece of Christmas cheer.
With careful hands, the brine is made,
A salty bath where flavors wade.
Herbs and spices steep their tale,
Thyme, sage, and garlic never fail.
The bird is kissed with butter’s grace,
Its skin a canvas, smooth in place.
Paprika’s blush, a golden hue,
The art of roasting comes into view.
The oven hums, its warmth a glow,
Within, the turkey’s juices flow.
Each basting pass, a labor sweet,
Ensures the feast will be complete.
The air grows rich, the scent divine,
Hints of rosemary and fragrant pine.
Families gather, their voices sing,
The turkey’s glory crowning the ring.
At last, it rests, the carving blade,
Reveals the work that love has made.
Slices tender, juicy, warm,
A masterpiece through winter’s storm.
So here’s to Christmas, hearth, and cheer,
To feasts that brighten every year.
For in the turkey, we find a part,
Of home, of joy, of giving heart.