DOUBLE CROSS DAYS: [Whereby Picnickers Are Forced to Attend an Annual Torment in the Southern Alps]
Mischievously wickedly back they fly
Clowns from the clouds, with tricks from the sky
Pulling out rubber, pecking on wire
Loosening the windscreen, slicing the tyre
Skating the tiles and sliding the roof
Looking for weakness but charmingly goof
Seeking out back-packs and shiny white plastic
Dissecting pack lunches and twanging elastic
Out from the mountains and skirting the snows
With tumbles and jokes and red furbelows
Nodding so sagely but eyeing its chance
The Kea is ready to lead us a dance.
Hist! Square shoulders, tidy your crumbs
And clean up the teacups — here he comes.
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