The summer sun is come and gone,

The clouds are storming in,

The annual fete is washed away,

The vicar’s lost his gin.

The table-tops that once stood piled

With home-made cakes and pies,

Have all been drenched in heavy hail,

Unbidden from the skies.

The Mother’s Union festive Teas

Are trampled in the grass,

Their sandwiches and berry tarts

Appear now quite a farce.

The Women’s Fellowship have gone

To shelter in the Hall,

As thunder rolls around the Green,

And heavy raindrops fall.

The Bouncy Castle’s losing air,

And children’s screams rise high,

As harassed mothers drag their youth

Back to their cars to dry.

The “Bowl a pig” had started well,

Until the beast got loose,

And climbed across the old Rolls-Royce,

Turning the Major puce.

The Maypole stands a sorry sight,

Its ribbons dangling free,

The Fortune Teller’s crystal ball

Did not this rain foresee.

The Raffle prizes are now soaked,

The “Rat Splat!” pipe is jammed,

The Teddy Bear jump from the tower

Did not go quite as planned.

And so the stalls have all packed up,

Their treasures put away.

The barbecue has fizzled out,

It’s been a dreadful day.

The chicken legs were barely cooked,

The burgers raw inside,

And of the few that have eaten them,