IN DENIAL

With Christmas in jeopardy in numerous parts of the British Isles, could that mean a last-minute stay of execution for a few million unsuspecting turkeys?  

SONG OF THE CHRISTMAS TURKEY

We have grown fat, my friends and I,

and although some birdbrains say

these gifts of food Men bring us

must be treated with suspicion, 

this I doubt. 

I feed on corn aplenty and rejoice,

grow plumply satisfied and portly stout.

My fellows fast become inflated too:

such fine birds with no work at all to do.   

I call the doubters paranoid and mock

their pessimistic attitudes and gloom.

Another feast arrives, I gulp it down

then gobble thankful sounds 

and strut about.

We grow each day more pillowy and sleek.

Our future is assured, our species blessed.

This is the life, I think, no need to fear:

December is the season of Good Cheer.