In a hot summer’s garden, the table was set.

    There was surely a party to come.

A cloud overhead was the only big threat

    To the kids and to poor harassed Mum.

 

Some sandwiches, crisps, biscuits and juice;

    Pork sausages pierced and on sticks;

A very large dish full of strawberry mousse -

    Well you’d think that they all would be sick!

 

Unseen by the children were many small eyes,

    That watched as the party progressed.

From the hedges and trees were many small spies

    And their faces looked down with interest.

 

A rumble of thunder, then lightning flashed -

    And the rain!  How it started to pour!

The half-finished food was just left on the plates

    And much of it went on the floor.

 

The cake, thank goodness, was still in the house

    And the children, of course, were well fed.

Outside in the garden the mice and the birds

    Finished sausages, crisps and the bread.

 

“What a birthday we’re having, despite the old rain!

      And we’ve plenty of games left to play.”

In the garden the opinions were almost the same:

      Birthday parties should come every day.

 

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By Josie Whitehead

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