Kingfishers are little dumpy fellows
With a bill shaped like a spear
He's often seen on his favourite perch
Over water oh so clear
When kingfishers are in the breeding zone
The male has to woo his mate
He catches and feeds her little fish
Like trophies on a plate
Somewhere along the riverbank
They will excavate a burrow
They need to site it carefully
As flooding could cause them sorrow
They really are magnificent birds
With plumage in orange and sapphire blue
But most times you'll just see a flash
While they are quickly passing through
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I would like to translate this poem