Everybody’s on the road
In stressed-out pre-Thanksgiving mode
To reach some far-away abode
Before the giant feast.
Each car is packed with gifts and food
And maybe kids whose attitude
Will put the grown-ups in a mood
That children like the least.
The traffic crawls, the brake lights shine;
The drivers gripe, the toddlers whine,
Though no one yet has crossed the line
That sunders man and beast.
The ones at home who must prepare,
Though hard at work, don’t really care
About the folks who tear their hair
Until their travel’s ceased.
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