The Market

[thestoryteller]

THE MARKET

The paddock at the end of town
Lay mostly bare all year.
Except when market day came ‘round
folks travelled far and near.

With stalls all shapes and colours there
and wares of ev’ry kind.
The country folk would amble through
to see what they might find.

One chap was selling leather goods
another works of art,
while one plump lady offered me
a homemade apple tart.

I met a couple selling gems
which they had mined themselves.
Two sweet old dears sold pottery
arrayed on many shelves.

Hand crafted toys were on display,
the envy of a child.
One mum she dressed down her young son
as he’d been running wild.

My eye then caught a bearded man
who busked and played guitar,
though stopped at times to quote some verse;
he was so popular.

A little girl came running by,
face painted like a cat,
her smile expressed her great delight,
there was no doubt of that.

With two hot dogs gripped in both hands
a rather plump young lad
seemed quite content in growing up
to look like his old dad.

Three boys on ponies rode around
bushranging on their mind.
Old Ned I think would counsel them
to leave it all behind.

Soon folk began to pack and leave
but they’d return for sure
The paddock would lay bare a while
til market day once more.

©Merv Webster

From the book A Muster of Verse Yarns.