Thanksgiving arrives, a time to reflect,
For the moments we overlook, the ones we forget.
Gentle autumn rains that soften the ground,
Yet rarely do we linger on farewells profound.
Overshadowed by Halloween’s bright, thrilling gleam,
With pumpkins and masks, and a ghost in between.
Outshone by the Mid-Autumn’s silvery light,
Thanksgiving’s voice whispers, lost deep in the night.
No grandeur, no fireworks, no dazzling display,
Just turkey and chatter—a quieter day.
Year after year, its essence fades thin—
We rush through the motions, complaints creeping in.
A day meant to honour, to cherish, to pause,
To savour what’s present, no need for applause.
But somehow it dwindles, a chore we ignore,
Taking for granted what matters much more.
For some, it stays sacred—a chance to embrace,
Each blessing, each trial, each tear-streaked face.
But for me, I confess, it slipped through the sky,
Its value unmeasured, just passing me by.
Yet this year, I vow to see it anew—
Thanksgiving, once humble, holds meaning so true.
It’s not in extravagance, or festivity’s sway,
But in the small moments that brighten each day.
Each joy, every sorrow, each lesson we earn,
Each flicker of kindness, each soul that returns—
They colour Thanksgiving in hues rarely seen,
A mosaic of gratitude, vibrant, and keen.
When Halloween dazzles with eerie delight,
And the Mid-Autumn moon glows softly through the night,
Thanksgiving’s true form is found deep within—
In the warmth we hold close, in love’s quiet grin.
The hugs and the laughter, the failures we face,
The courage, the heartache, the dreams we still chase—
These shape Thanksgiving, a canvas of pride,
A portrait of blessings we too often hide.
So this year I’ll sit, take stock, and proclaim:
Thanksgiving’s not lost, just misunderstood fame.
Its beauty’s in pauses, in soft, whispered thanks,
In valuing life on its plain, wooden planks.
For when we take time, from the heart to the sky,
Thanksgiving will bloom, and never run dry.
Here’s to the holiday, simple yet true—
Thanksgiving’s a mirror—of me, and of you.
Leon Zhang