A colourful clown on a high cliff top perch,
Surveying the sea far below;
Proudly the puffin puffs out its chest
Ignoring the cold winds that blow.
A black and white suit with bright orange legs,
And a tiny black cap on its head;
Its face and its body have feathers of white
And eye markings of both black and red.
During the winter, its home is the sea;
Strong wings help to both fly and dive.
Our cliff tops in winter are quiet once more,
But in April the puffins arrive.
Thousands return from far and away,
And breeding awaits them ahead.
A burrow is needed, and one egg is laid,
And their puffling soon needs to be fed.
The mother and father take it in turn
To bring back some fish to their nest.
When August arrives, it’s then that it’s time
For their puffling to fish with the rest.
It’s sad when the colourful clowns say goodbye
And return to their life on the sea,
But puffins must search for the fish that they eat:
They can't buy it like you or like me.
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