The tea room is open
Tomorrow we go to London
Spring is in the air
The discussion is about Easter
When is it, why is it
That it fluctuates so
Apparently it’s a religion thing
The conversation moves on
To daffodils; all will be gone
By Easter, same for peonies
It seems, so I am led to understand
I thought I might find peace
But no, not here, not with gardeners
In such profusion, talking habitually
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