At 9am the skies are grey
the car park stands quite empty
we wander round but little sound
is heard from waking gentry.
*
By half past ten the drizzle stops
and things are looking lively
some gents and dames in Georgian dress
are posing – very stylish.
*
Our luck is in, the rain holds off
the stalls set out to sell stuff
a regiment of ne’er do wells
are drilled till they are good ’nuff.
*
A punch and judy show begins
the children call and giggle
and serving wenches ply their trade,
acrobats jump and juggle.
*
The carousel keeps turning round,
the music loud and cheery.
Its wooden horses ride the waves –
their paint is gleaming sweetly
*
A pedlar with his tray of silks
shouts his wares with gusto,
then turns into a highwayman –
tells tales of derring-do.
*
All weekend the crowds come in,
all ages shapes and sizes –
we walks and chats and buys or sells
we plays, eats, drinks or gazes.
*
On Monday all the tents have gone
the meadows look well polished,
The town has done a sterling job
the festival has vanished.
poedoodles 