Buds bursting, coloured pale
Birds tending twigs to nests
Lambs fall about and flail
Farmers try to look their best

Market time has come again
The people weave and wind
Stuffed stalls and scrbbling pen
Church bells start to chime

Children hold their parents' hands
Puppies start to whine
Instinct says to lope the land
But only if tis thine

Steaming pits of people coil
Grey morning sunlight
Puddles iridescent with oil
Blasted seagulls fight.

The rain will come, human fingers
Will grasp at crisp packets
Cigarrette but stench lingers
Still the seagus make a racket.

For love they sell pretty flowers
For death condolence cards
The merchant will use his powers
Decorum lies in splintered shards.

So feast and sneeze as seasons
Change and placate your winter
Hunger, swallow reasons
Lest in your palm they splinter.