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