At a local fete,

For a bit of fun,

We made it a date,

To be kids, bar none.

So all the men climbed

Into old bags of flour,

And when the noon bell chimed,

They jumped with all their power.

The hardest fought of adult sack races,

With dust flying up over hands and faces.

I think the winner was supported the most,

But by the finish he looked like a ghost!
© Caro Ness 2015