On a rainy morning,
At some time of the day in mid-winter
I heard a sound of hustling,
Was it the trees rustling?
No silly, it’s the silver crockery
Crowded in Malvern Buttery.
The sounds of murmur rise in the air,
Is this a cafe or a winter fair?
With the warm smell of coffee
and oven-baked soft breads
A tingling grumble rises deep in the belly.