Nobody knows
What the kingfisher does for Christmas
Whether, perhaps, holed up in Klosters
With champagne and smoked salmon
Or if, unknown to the tax man,
He has a hideaway in Mustique.
Hibernation seems unlikely.
The bulldog, on the other hand
Ought to be predictable:
A pie and a pint in the local,
The Queen on the telly,
Turkey. Sprouts. Gravy.
But, no.
He’s skiing in Val d’Isere.
Which makes you wonder
If the kingfisher
Is in Barnsley, or Basingstoke.
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