I don't really mean to badger, I could kip down on the floor"
So I answered, "Tell me Neville, Are you really on the level?
Not a prophet from the devil? Just a bird and nothing more?"
Neville answered, "I'm a turkey, nothing less and nothing more!
And besides, my feet are sore."

"'Tis with fear and great alarm, that I have fled the turkey farm
Sensed a great impending harm; couldn't linger any more.
They've bought themselves a cockatoo; We were at risk from Asian 'flu
So my friend I've come to you, glabbling at your kitchen door."
Thus spake Neville at my door. All the while my mind's eye saw
Steaming thick brown gravy pour.
Pondering my good fortune, I told him I would find some room,
"I can put you up at least until December twenty four"
  I began to contemplate, the means to help him to his fate
Perhaps the axe or strangulation, but it shook me to the core.
Haunted by the thought of Neville dead upon my kitchen floor
All around me blood and gore.

Bizarrely I grew to love him, couldn't shove him in the oven
I chastise him if he glabbles and he wakes me if I snore.
Now we're like birds of a feather, watching Bond movies together,
And you'll find we hardly ever mention Christmas any more.
Now I crave dead meat no longer, I've become a vegan bore.
Me and Nev for ever more.

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