Saturday morning oh' what a bore <br />cars queued up by the score. <br />All waiting to go into a field <br />to fill their pockets from their yield <br />Lets say good morning to you all <br />car booters and the noise from all <br />your car hooters. They sell all sorts <br />of wares, almost everything including <br />spares. Copper pans and cast iron pots <br />pirate videos and toys for the tots. <br />Junk on the ground and on their pasting <br />tables, decorated china with cracks under <br />the labels. Every Saturday Morning, there on <br />the dot just to get their favourate spot. <br />In come the Dealers, with one thing on <br />their mind; to snatch a bargain that's rare <br />to find.They will offer you a price that you cannot <br />resist, but really they are only taking the piss. <br />One mans trash is another mans treasure <br />but can this really be a pleasure. <br />Up early morning and rushing around <br />just to get pitched out on muddy ground. <br />Five pound a pitch and nothing in return <br />when will us mugs ever learn. <br />It's like a feeding frenzy when the punters <br />arrive it's a wonder how they manage to stay <br />alive.<br /><br />sylvia spencer<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-feeding-frenzy/
