Twas just before Thanksgiving Day

And preparations were all under way,

For a gathering round the great log fire.

Of all the family, from the great grand sire

Down to the youngest child of all

To feast on the good things raised that fall,

Old Goody Shatswell’s fire was hot

And the pudding was boiling in the pot

And the great logs in the fireplace

Made the steam pour at such a pace

That at last the water was almost gone

And the pudding ‘twas nowhere being done

So out to the well behind the shed

After more water the Goody sped

Never thinking of the disaster dire

That would happen beside her kitchen fire

Some young boys coming down the street

Looked into the Goody’s kitchen so neat

And seeing the pudding there alone

Decided "twas time to have some fun."

And like the flame from powder flashed

Into the Goody’s kitchen they dashed

And snatching the pudding from the pot

Out of the door ran like a shot.

But alas when they got out in the street

They found that it wasn’t fit to eat

And after all the trouble they’d have to hook it

If they wanted to eat it they’d have to cook it.

But the boys wee not to be outdone

And in spite of all would have their fun

For said one the youngest chap of all

Said he ‘twil make a good football

So down the street with many a bump

And up against the old town pump

Until at last when they reached the corner

The pudding was pretty near a goner.

Those old boys now have long been laid

Where the grand old elms cast their shade

In that city calm and still

Beneath the shadow of old Town Hill.

Their bones are dust, their names forgot

Who stole that pudding from the pot

But generations to come will oft repeat

The story that named old Pudding Street

Henry S. Bowen claimed that he wrote this poem while in high school.  No one else seems to have claimed it so he gets it by default

Poems   Table of Contents