It was warm but not hot

With a bit of a breeze

He slipped on his loafers

And stepped out with ease

She chose the red flats

And a light airy dress

Not overdone

But sure to impress

They agreed upon eight

At the local estab

He rode the bus

She took a cab

A quick drink and a smoke

Then they headed down

To the carnival

That had just come to to...

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Mourn for the May whose ribboned fripperies once, fluttering,

Fostered cheerful colour on each vernal village green.

Though brazen buddleias dash some dour dolour from the guttering,

They still raise sad rejoinders to our ugly, urban scene.

Then shone the season of gay garland and rich revelry;

Then was the maypole’s hour to overlook glad scenes.

...

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