A four line poem about: the lunatic.
Didn't sell a whole lot of apples at the market this morning, which was quite unusual. Thankfully we did sell most of our veggies so we didn't do too badly, but it was definitely a strange market. Oh well, just two left to go now.
Oh, I owe you a picture of the squash haul. Here we go (minus the twenty pounds we'd just sold to the restaurant, the ones we'd set aside for this morning's market, and what we have in the basement for our own use in the next month or so):
He knows all the right things to say,
So hell-bent on winning my heart.
Although he seems normal to me,He's really just playing the part.