A robin hops atop the Yarl’s Wood fence
Remembered there was holly there before
Inside, inmates offer thumb prints for bread,
A thin layer of meat grease and cranberry
They get ginger and lemon in their cups
A screw came up with that recipe, as
He found all the mis’ry just so stifling
Later, they light a small fire in a bin,
sit around its warmth until pulled away
‘‘tis Christmas Night! No lights! No vermin stir.’
A man sings Tikhaya Noch quietly
To the embers of the dying fire.