Can't pass this up, even though I probably should, suffering as I am from Turkey over-dose. This is the best I can summon under the circumstances:

Fear na’ his grizzled buzzard face
This chief of fowl will fill our plates
With crisp’ed skin and flesh that sates
Dark, wings or white:
Weel are ye wordy o’ a nap
As lang’s a fortnight.

Our groaning bellies ye soon fill
Washed down well with amber swill
Our EMT’s soon know the drill
To stand by spark and paddles
When we staggering, fall
And breathe in gasps and rattles

But now we’ll slice with grim delight
Rend flesh from bone in widening bight
As piling tenders yield a sight
Emerging from the pan
Once eaten, out will go our lights
succumbed to tryptophan

Is there him who’s noodle fed
Or thus to pizza’s often led
Who takes his burgers tween his bread
With ketchup or with pickle
Who’d eat a “dog” in Turkey’s stead
His misery’s a mickle

But mark the Yank, who’s turkey-fed
His truth is blue, his blood is red
And white’s his teeth, and strong his tread
And single-malt he’s drinking,
Which dark brown liquor wreaths his head
In dreams as he is sinking

When comes the morn he’ll wake and rise
And make a brunch of Turkey thighs
Strap on a kilt that’s upward-sized
And sally to the TV
Where belches now come highly prized
Made rich with Turkey gravy