And is There Honey Still for Tea?
Jay
Only the gentle rustling of leaves, the distant bleating of sheep and the insistent hum of insects could be heard. Too full to move after their picnic, the two men lay on their backs in the long grass, gazing up at the azure sky which formed the backdrop to a miniature aerial display.
Despite their clumsy manoeuvring, the extravagantly striped creatures flew with steady determination towards their goal. The buzzing grew in intensity and John sat up suddenly, turning to gaze intently into his partner’s startled eyes.
“Did you put the lid back on the honey jar?” he asked menacingly.
Inspired by another scorching English summer day. How could my thoughts not turn to Rupert Brooke's dreams of Grantchester?
Stands the church clock at ten to three?
And is there honey still for tea?
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