The mistletoe's limp with exhaustion,
its berries are drained of their juice.
Big Pooh has been snogging all evening,
his stitching is fraying and loose.
Poor Piglet threw up over Rabbit.
[He missed when he aimed for the bin.]
I've told him before that's what happens
when piglets mix absinthe and gin.
Now Rabbit loves Johnny Travolta,
he'd hired a tux for the night.
He's scraped off the worst of the carrots
but vomit stains worst when on white.
They'll all be so sorry tomorrow,
this evening will be just a blur.
Especially when Christopher Robin
has Y-fronts which bear stripey fur.