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Poppy Stubbs put down her guitar and gathered up the change from her peaked cap. It was starting to rain, and she could afford a coffee.

It was mid-afternoon and the coffee tent was already bulging when the rain refugees joined them. Poppy waited patiently in the queue, humming softly to herself.

‘Never take the trees for granted!’ she said when she reached the bartender.

‘I won’t, I promise,’ he replied, unperturbed. Poppy was a regular customer. ‘What can I get for you?’

‘An espresso,’ said Poppy. ‘Blacker than the night, hotter than the sun. And a piece of rocky road, please.’

‘Rockier than the moon?’ said the bartender.

‘Moonier than the rock,’ said Poppy.

She sat down on a bean bag and began strumming absentmindedly.

# Take the cake and leave the pie, twenty dead dogs and no one asked why #

A couple of lines later, she felt someone tap her shoulder. She turned to see the coffee shop’s manager.

‘I’m afraid you can’t play in here, miss,’ he said. ‘We don’t have a performing license.’

‘I’m composing, not playing,’ said Poppy matter-of-factly.

‘That makes no difference. I’m afraid you’ll have to stop or leave the tent,’ said the manager.

‘Fine,’ said Poppy. ‘You’re the man. Did you know that? The man!’

She drank the espresso and carefully wrapped up the uneaten rocky road in a serviette to take with her. But as she got to the entrance to the tent, her way was blocked by a mysterious shepherd. His clothes were sodden and he carried a shotgun.

‘We’re under attack!’ said the mysterious shepherd. ‘A pack of wild dogs in the fields – sheep on the run or ripped to pieces – I had to get up a tree – damn lucky I had my gun – got about a score of them, rest ran away – bloody hell!’

‘There, there,’ said Poppy. ‘Get this rocky road inside you, you’ll feel much the better for it.’