My love had a busy day, selling off her goods,
chatting with neighbors. And the visitors kept coming.
In this tag sale there were no interludes.
The front door grew dizzy with all that drumming.
One friend gave the knob into the hand of another.
All day welcoming people, talking for hours,
she finally had to take her leave just to recover.
And on her walk she found the wild flowers,
made a fragrant bouquet, and brought them home.
What more could you possibly want in this poem?