Wet-the-bed the Old wives tale,
Our fuzzy buzzy friends favourite food
Little white petals floating on the wind,
he loves me, he loves me not
Gold to shine under your chin,
Spread on your toast for breakfast
Surprise of purple in the green
Find the lucky four
A prickly tea, to cleanse and calm
The broad leafed soother growing nearby
A burst of life in overgrown grass
A messy garden
A weedy lawn
A plain wedding band once patterned now smooth,
A smooth young face now patterned and worn.
She serves at the counter with her tired smile,
Just one more day, selling baps and plate pies.
“There’s me darlin’” a craggy voice cheers,
Cheeky Ol’ Bobby with a twinkle in his eye.
Special treatment for this one, he comes to the front,
“This is me best girl, best o’ the lot.”
The usual for him, two cobs and a blushing smile.
“See you on Wednesday night, Lovely Lass. Don’t stand me up again!”
A wistful sigh, a ping of the till.
Just one more day, selling baps, and plate pies.
A book, a man, a tale to be told.
A girl of wood, tired and old.
A birth, a death, the life unknown.
The seeds of time, a tree ungrown.
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