The time is upon us, the crops they are ripe, we Banoyend do give to Thankfulness hype. The larders are brimming, the silos are full, we're sitting on mountains of roots hemp and wool. The evenings come sooner, the days they grow short, come share of our bounty and fresh apple torte. The communes breathe easy, the comrades they rest, at least until month's end, 'till Thank-and-Praise-Fesst. Get ready for dancing, for games and much cheer, we're known for our fessting, by its light we steer. Our customs are rooted, in habits long true, we keep them unaltered, like a favorite shoe. Our mountains are craggy, our homes they are warm, so come by your lonesome, or in a great swarm. We welcome all peoples, regardless of race – or hairstyle, fashion sense, timing, or taste. Our buses are shiny, our planes are brand-new, we've tunnels aplenty, and fine hostels, too. So pack some stout britches and your biggest smile, our arms are wide open – come stay for a while.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥gracious, grateful Grigovia
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