My dad taught third grade for about 30 years, and every year he'd hit me with the same two poems he'd tell his third graders, in exactly the same slow and deliberate cadence he delivers it to his eager third grade pupils. This year was no different:
"When the turkey gobble-gobbles it is plump and proud and perky. When the family gobble-gobbles, it is gobbling up the turkey."
"If turkeys thought, they'd run away a week before Thanksgiving Day. But turkeys can't anticipate, and so there's turkey on our plate."
Both poems courtesy of Jack Prelutsky.