At the County Fair, when the people came, And it wore a ticket and bore a name.
Alas for the pumpkin’s pride! One day A boy and his mother took it away.
It was pared and sliced and pounded and stewed, And the way it was treated was hard and rude.
It was sprinkled with sugar and seasoned with spice, The boy and his mother pronounced it nice.
It was served in a paste, it was baked and browned, And at last on a pantry shelf was found.
And on Thursday John, Mary, and Mabel Will see it on aunty’s laden table.
For the pumpkin grew ’neath a summer sky Just to turn at Thanksgiving into pie! Mary Mapes Dodge.