Although it was called a summer fete

The reality of the weather was quite different

Heavy skies and unseasonably strong winds

Was all that this July day had to offer

The fete was opened promptly at two

And a small number of people filtered in

It was being held in private garden

Which was lightly matched with trees

In the lower garden a small brass band

Entertained the visitors of the day

From under the shelter of an oak

I had purchased various gifts

And a handful of dull books

For the darker blind months

And soon filled my pathetic bag

It had started to rain lightly at first

But quickly began to gather strength

It was time to leave the fete

The church clock showed

That It was ten to three

And I wondered

Quite poetically

Whether there was

Honey for Tea

Or just plain old

Strawberry Jam